The Earth is My Mother
This face, printed on a box and standing upright in the back of the toy department, demanded my attention. I abandoned my destination, left the main aisle, and walked between Fisher Price and Preskool for a closer look at this interesting woman with the wise eyes.
She wasn’t what she appeared to be at all. This face was a jigsaw puzzle, and the picture was of nature, not a human being. What I had mistaken for wise eyes were actually animals, twigs, flowers, and stone. Gravel and water formed the illusion of lips and teeth. A young girl sits beside the earth-constructed nose.
Even if I hadn’t been a jigsaw puzzle fanatic, I couldn’t have left the store without taking this picture with me.
My first mistake was in working this puzzle on my bamboo-colored dining room table, where there was little contrast between the colors in the puzzle pieces and my workspace. The second was in allowing the kids to help, even though it was a tough puzzle to work alone. I wanted to frame and keep this puzzle, but when we finished, a piece was missing.
We searched the furniture and hardwood floor, same color as the missing piece, for several days before I gave up and decided the piece must have been missing when I opened the box. Disappointed, I took the puzzle apart. Of course, as soon as I did this, the missing piece showed up under the piano.
The second time I worked this puzzle, it was much easier. I did it on a green board, for one thing. The real break was in familiarity with the individual components of the bigger picture. I remembered which eyes belonged to what animals, and where each of those creatures fit into the bigger picture. With little effort, I could tell the difference between bird feathers and tree bark, pebbles and pinecone petals. The puzzle was more pleasant the second time; so much so, I took it apart and worked it again.
I placed the green board and completed puzzle under my bed, waiting to find the right frame. The dog ate a piece of the puzzle. I boxed up the remaining pieces, and moved them to my new home, still hating to part with the brilliance of Bev Doolittle’s art and vision
