Everyday Things: Chasing an Echo

Memories and inspiration arrive during the most mundane chores

Small Marble Antique Statue of Artemis, Greek Goddess | c. 1920

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Shall I be dead and buried
When this shall come to pass
With folded hands and narrow cot
Beneath the waving grass?

― Lilian Stockton Edmonds, Undated  

In ancient Greek religion and mythology, Artemis (/ˈɑːrtəməs/ was the goddess of hunting, the wilderness, wild animals, transitions, nature, and vegetation.

One of the most widely venerated Greek deities, she was also considered the goddess of chastity and of childbirth (although I’ve no idea how she could represent both at the same time).

The patron and protector of young children, especially young girls, she was one of the three major virgin goddesses along with Athena and Hestia. Artemis never married—something I couldn’t resist, but was never able to embrace with my whole heart. Hell not even half of it.

Three times is not a charm.

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I hadn’t thought lately about the statue’s origins. I inherited it from my older sister, who’d chosen it to keep when our grandmother died. So each time I saw it, I thought of her and my grandmother. But not much else.

In the early 1950s, it was perched proudly on the grand piano I could not learn how to play—no matter how often my grandmother tried to teach me. I’d forgotten the myths of the goddess, which were among several I learned from my grandmother when I was little.

I’d taken Artemis for granted. Just another treasure from the past that helps me travel back in time when I hold her. When I picked her up and dusted her yesterday, she spoke to me. Look me up you fool. Pay your respects.

Or some such nonsense I imagined.

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According to the beliefs of the first Greeks in Arcadia, Artemis is the first nymph, a divinity of free nature. People built temples near springs, marshes, and rivers—where the nymphs live. Pregnant women appealed to her during their trying times.

As I researched my little statue, I began to understand why my grandmother, the forgotten poet, might have kept the goddess close by all her adult life, even in the 1950s when I was a little girl and she an old woman.

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Ancient poets noted that Artemis had an imposing stature. She stood taller and was more impressive than all the nymphs accompanying her. My grandmother was nearly 5 feet 8 inches tall, well above the normal height for a young woman who was born in 1884. Maybe my grandmother didn’t think about that at all. But I do.

I’ve been recognizing my grandmother in the various tales spun over time about the goddess who favored women and children. The poet had three miscarriages between her first two children and my mother, who was born a decade and a half after her siblings in 1924.

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I ask not kingly pardon
For sins I may have dared;
I ask but that my little maid
From bitterness be spared.

― Lilian Stockton Edmonds, Undated

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Perhaps my grandmother purchased Artemis to pray for a safe delivery. Maybe she figured Artemis would protect her final child from harm at birth and afterwards. I do not know. But, what I do know is I’ve done more research, and this is a very old statue made out of marble. Small, but exquisite.

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My attraction to the goddess is different than what I imagine my grandmother might have felt in her trying days. For me, she is more than a protector. She is the goddess who roamed the wilderness surrounded by an entourage of nymphs—the hunting goddess. She inspires dreams in me other than safe deliveries of children. I especially like her refusal to be married and give up her chastity.

I wish I could wander in forests of old surrounded by nymphs (ok, teenage girls who need to see life beyond screens and learn how to really live). If only I could teach young women how to be self-sufficient, how to live in a world that can be different than the one they see around them.

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You may have the month of weddings
And roses for your fare,
But give me all the May times
With lilacs in the air.
The smell of woods awaking,
The tender green on sky,
The dogwood’s drift on the hillside,
And a wild bird’s call on high.

― Lilian Stockton Edmonds, Undated

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Artemis’ symbols included a bow, arrow, and quiver. The deer was sacred to her. Now, this is more like me. Living in nature. If more people, not just girls and women, spent time in the wild, or just a local forest or park, maybe attitudes toward unlimited consumption and selfishness would change. At least change faster.

Some countries have made enormous strides in getting away from fossil fuels. It is shameful where we stand. The United States is so far behind that our small efforts can seen hopeless in the big picture. But I believe they are not.

Anything we can do helps. Use less plastic, or none (not always possible these days). Plant a tree a year—or more often if you can afford it. Clean up the trash by the side of the road. Talk to the animals.

Don’t step on bugs and spiders. Rescue the geckos that appear in the house and make sure they get outside safely. (OK, that might just be me living here in Florida in the midst of tropical weather that just about suffocates you.)

Well, we all know the small steps, but do we all do them? Every time? I know I do not.

None of us can do it alone. But, imagine if enough of us take small steps to preserve nature, to help our earth, then it will add up.

We might be dead before we see big changes, but they will happen. With or without us. Might as well offer a helping hand.

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My body may be living,
But when all is done and said,
If I answer not your call, then
Will my heart itself be dead?

― Lilian Stockton Edmonds, Undated