Why I Shut My Mouth When Dragonflies are Near

When I was young, my mom would tell a fanciful story about fishing with her dad, sister Ruth, and brother Michael. Whenever she shared this particular tale, her entire face would light up with a radiant smile, her joy so palpable it seemed to fill the room. Sometimes, she would laugh, her eyes sparkling with the happiness of those cherished memories.

My sister and I would listen intently, often asking questions, as you might too, once you hear the story. It was a bit puzzling, even a little scary and confusing, yet it always drew us in. You see, my mom lost her dad when she was just 10 years old. Her last memory of him is watching him get into a taxi to go to the hospital after his appendix had burst. She watched from the top floor of their house, not knowing it would be the last time she saw him. He never made it back home, passing away on January 16, 1952, at the age of 46.

When my mom tells the story, it’s clear how much she admired and loved her dad. This deep affection is why my sister, Shelly, and I hold this story and the symbol of the dragonfly so dear. If I find a dragonfly on anything, I buy it.  I have dragonfly pictures, stepping stones, garden motifs, bird baths, jewelry, and both my sister and I have dragonfly tattoos: Shelly’s is large and colorful, while mine is small (and Chris, well he may have one but hasn't shared). To this day, the dragonfly symbolizes our mom and, in an endearing way, our grandfather, Thomas Henry Edison Hale, whom we never met but feel we know through our mom’s stories.

Now, the story…

My grandfather often went fishing on the Willamette River for carp and catfish. He would walk down the road from their house on McCourtney, cross the railroad tracks, and find his spot near the bridge over the river. He always brought fish home and put them in a sink by a giant washer. The Hale kids were fascinated with the fish, especially the catfish. My next post may just be the tall tale about catfish whiskers.  😉

Sometimes, my grandfather would invite my mom, Ruth, and Michael to join him. They loved these outings, running and playing by the river while their dad fished. As all fishermen know, it's important to be quiet on the banks, which doesn't naturally align with running and playing children.

One sunny day, when the kids were getting a bit too loud, my grandfather gathered them together and said, "You have to be quiet because there are dragonflies around." The kids looked around and saw many dragonflies of all shapes and sizes flying around the riverbank.

"You have to be quiet because if you aren't, the dragonflies will sew your mouth closed," he added, then calmly walked back to resume fishing.

My mom recalls that she and her siblings were remarkably quiet for the rest of that trip. From then on, whenever they had the joy of going fishing with their dad, they were always quiet. She believed his story for many years until she learned in high school that dragonflies do not, in fact, sew mouths shut.

This story, filled with love and a touch of whimsy, continues to bring a smile to our faces, reminding us of the joy and love our mom had for her dad.

When Shelly passed on April 20, 2022, the dragonfly took on even more significance. Like me, Shelly cherished dragonflies and shared this love with her friends, colleagues, and family. Now, seeing a dragonfly always brings her to mind.

This Saturday, Mom and I were helping Soroptimists International of Lincoln wrap up 32 silent auction baskets. My secret sister slipped in a surprise gift for me. When I opened the card and read, "A Good Person is a Gift to the Whole World," my heart overflowed with warmth. Inside the package was a beautiful dragonfly wine stopper. My mouth dropped, and tears welled up—it was such an unexpected and deeply personal gesture.

Scott Adams, creator of the "Dilbert" comic strip, said, "Remember, there’s no such thing as a small act of kindness. Every act creates a ripple with no logical end." I think about this quote and the dragonfly story my grandfather used to tell. The ripple of that story passed down from my mom to her children and now shared with you, is a beautiful reminder of how even small acts can have a significant impact on someone's day, week, or life.