Crow And Beetle - PSP4

What do you do when faced with one of life's major inconvenieces?  Get creative?   Avoid it entirely?   With Crow and Beetle, we learn that most of life's challenges are best managed head-on, with a clear, creative mind, an honest heart, and belief in one's self.   We also learn that, often, even enemies can become friends.

Thomas Mitchell delivers his most amazing work to date with Planet Storytime's first original story.    Paxton Mitchell provides a beautiful soundtrack to accompany this amazing tale.

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You can also reach out to us with suggestions, requests and questions by email at planet.storytime@gmail.com, and keep using your imagination to unlock the full power of your brain!

Transcript

SPEAKER_00 0:02

Welcome to the Planet Storytime Podcast, where we use the power of our imaginations to create the pictures in our minds for some of the best stories ever told. We are so glad you could join us today. I'm your host, Thomas Mitchell. Our story today is The Crow and the Beetle by T. M. Gannum. It tells us a lot about how hard it can be to make it through tough moments in our lives and how important it is to do our very best to try and treat each other kindly. Now, if you can, take a deep breath in and hold it. And let it out. Now, we're ready for today's story. Remember to use your imagination to see the pictures in your head as you listen to the story. I hope you enjoy it. The Crow and the Beetle by T. M. Gannum. In a thick and thriving wood, abound with creatures of all variety, lived a certain crow and beetle with a rather peculiar relationship. If it were up to the crow, there wouldn't be any relationship at all, except for that of dinner and diner. The beetle would be the dinner, and the crow would be the diner. If it were up to the beetle, there wouldn't be any relationship at all either, other than, hello there, very well, and have a good day. But you see, the crow had a special taste for beetle creatures, and so desired to have this particular beetle for either breakfast, lunch, or dinner. Not that the crow couldn't find other beetles for its dining needs, but this particular beetle posed a rather remarkable challenge. You see, this beetle was of a certain splendid cleverness that made it quite difficult to be taken for food. No, it was not just another beetle. This beetle was an ever-evolving riddle. Hmm. And one the crow was determined to solve. But before any of this riddle business started, things were much simpler. I'll try to bring you back to the very beginning of their story together. The very first day they met, the beetle was out and about on one of its daily explores, drinking dewdrops that pool on accommodating leaves and gathering sticks that might look like handy reinforcements to the home nest. When the crow spotted the beetle. Ever hungry, the crow saw a delicious midday meal in the plump insect. A bit of a show creature, the crow enjoyed making a presentation of its dining conquests. The crow swept in, wings in full swoop and flutter, creating a gust that rose the wee beetle off its front four feet, the final two clutching at the floor. Good day, said the crow. That is good day for me, for I shall enjoy a juicy beetle feast. Truly, one of my favorites. The crow uttered grandly with a smug beaky smile, and then paused for the beetle's reaction. The beetle gently blinked while its clever mind tried to devise a plan to avoid being a snack for the presumptuous crow. Oh, well, uh that will be just fine, said the beetle agreeably. Indeed, I feel so much better now that most I would say most of my terrible sickness has left my body. It said as gently as it did slowly. Fabulous bellowed the crow. Well then I wait wait just a moment. Terrible sicknesses You mentioned something about a terrible sickness in your body? Oh yes, yes, terrible indeed. Quite the horror. I I'm sure it's nothing, and most likely won't interfere with the pleasantness of your meal. And then the beetle looked somber, and with a half-scrunched face appeared to be pushing something out of its grand diminutive frame, and then looked upward and around. There was no sound, only the suggestion of wonder. Perhaps some bitternotes, but I doubt it will cause any real significant stomach pain. You mean tummy aches? I do so hate tummy aches, whispered the crow. Oh yes, yes. Stomach pain is also commonly referred to as tummy aches, the beetle said earnestly. said the crow, pretending not to sound disappointed. Rallying he echoed. But you are feeling much better, you say? Oh yes, considering how severely this illness announced itself, we can only hope it's gone now and won't come back, the beetle paused. Like last time? Last time? Oh goodness, yes, smartered the beetle. Out of nowhere like a fierce ocean wave. Fierce ocean wave? embarked the crow so soft as to not incite one. But what is life if not to engage some risk? Lit the beetle. Risk indeed, mounted the crow. You know, it seems that I too might be suffering from a bit of a a bug, shall we say? While I would happily devour you effortlessly at this moment, I'm thinking the better of it. How's about a rainchuck? Oh well, suit yourself, supported the beetle. When you are feeling presently well, simply come calling, and hopefully the hawks won't be sailing around looking for their next meal as well. Hawks caught the crow. Such a number of them that do so enjoy this part of the wood, but as danger may be everywhere, we might as well go about our business just the same, and don't you agree? Yes, quite, managed the crow, feeling suddenly so tired in defeat and desperate for a shift, it took to the air before issuing until we meet again. Lengthened by the distance as the crow sifted away through the moist, sun-baked air back to its easy nest for a wee contemplation and fast snooze on an empty tongue. Meanwhile, the beetle in a flit jerked back into its nest, and in the way of gathering oneself, bounced its breath down to a slow, steady catch of air, and took to gazing at itself in a wee mirror made of a piece of broken clear soda bottle. It is very unbecoming of one to lie. The beetle scolded itself, holding its eyes in a cold stare. Indeed, the beetle was not feeling ill at all, and there were no more hawks in this part of the wood than anywhere else. And then the beetle reminded itself that it was also unbecoming to scold oneself. That crow is going to eat me. It would definitely have been unbecoming to be eaten and digested. Though reckoning further, the beetle swung again, though to lie is to foul against nature, and if scolding oneself fouls also, I should at least attempt to make good on things. But how? The beetle tapped its pincers, thinking thinking. That crow, how obnoxiously proud. But of course, who can begrudge a spot of hunger? And we all have our favourite flavours, the beetle empathized. I wouldn't doubt beetle being among the best, the beetle conceded humbly. And there's no doubt that the crow's hunger shall return. And then suddenly the beetle erupted. I have just the thing. Like a charge of lightning it darted to its backyard where lining the perimeter was literally a self-made fence about which the beetle's own discarded shells, shed for its entire life, lay in consecutive order adjacent to one another, forming its own private barrier, circumambulating the wee property. The strong desire to right the wrong of falsehood allowed the beetle to suffer an opening in the enclosure and carefully remove one of the shells, leaving a section open to the wild wood. Eagerly the beetle shimmied to the stove and applied the oven to an ample swell, and then straight away took to crushing the shell, pestle to mortar. The beetle then reached for jars containing the sweets of maple sap and persimmon, the sour of crabapples and margarine, and the bitters of walnut and sycamore bark, and mixed the bunch into a potent mass upon which it poured the thick cream of milkweed stalk, and stirred it to a puffy quaff, and then transported the batch to a baking tin and added it to the oven, judging the time for three whipperwill calls. The beetle waited for a spell as the forest considered the evening. And waited, and then it heard the distant happy call. Ah, all done, the beetle exclaimed, after checking the pie by inserting its left foreleg clean as a whistle. The beetle carefully removed the piping hot confection and set it on the edge of the stove top to cool. Has the crow ever sampled beetle shell pie before? The beetle wondered. The beetle quickly packed up the sweet and savory pie and fastened it to the traveling harness, and then the harness to its regal body, and followed its extraordinary sense of smell to the crow's roost. Upon arriving, the beetle observed the crow staring blankly through a rhomboid crevice in the hearty sticks of the nest, as if pondering the absurdity of life, until the drag of the beetle's approaching feet startled the crow's head back to face the beetle, whose smile and outstretched legs presented Beetle Shell Pie. The crow jumped upright and towered over the gracious beetle, who confidently ordered the crow to sit down, please, and won't you? The crow, miffed by such presumption, screeched, Beetle, the nerve to find me at my branch and command me in my nest. Ah quite the same as you did me quite the beetle observed. I stammered the crow. And to you I bring food, whereas you would um take me as food? Isn't that right? Aye I The crow found no words with which to respond. No matter to speak of it. We all do what we must to survive, but wouldn't it be so much better if we were to do so kindly? Yes? Anywho, that is why I am here today, actually. I am trying to survive the kindest way I can, the beetle said, attempting to sound pleasant, and cleared its wee throat and rescued, shall you some beetle shell pie? Made from my own shell three springs ago. I'm sure you'll enjoy it. There was a long pause before the crow could speak. Oh my dripped the crow slowly, realizing what was happening. So terribly kind. The crow's eyes moistened as its elegant beaks delicately clasped the pie tin and gently transferred it to the table. Please have some, encouraged the beetle. The crow was still in the way of one collecting oneself, and paused further. Won't you join me? requested the crow, hopefully. Oh no, thank you, said the beetle gently. I must never get too full of myself. It is all for you. I realize you would prefer to have the whole of me, but I am simply not quite that generous of a soul. Oh dear me, the crow interrupted. I believe you are quite generous indeed. And snatched a morsel of the pie with its long beak. Hmm. Fabulous, issued the crow, tilting its noble head from side to side, and continued, perhaps not quite so fabulous as dining real flesh. Something about the juicy parts. The crow went on perhaps too liberally, and upon realizing this, pinched its stout tongue between the tips of its beak to suspend yet another word. Seeing the look in the crow's eye, the beetle determined its work there was done, and started to sachet to the edge of the branch and offered farewell. Until next time, the beetle called, firming up its harness and scuttling away. Until next. But before the crow could utter full reciprocity, it saw the wee beetle suddenly descended upon by an ornery robin, who nipped the whirl-winded beetle between its beaky clasps and began to lift off when the indignant crow instinctively slapped the air vigorously with its lengthy wings and called a mighty shriek that stunned the robin into releasing his clench, suspending the beetle in mid-air for three flaps of the departing robin's wings, until the now falling beetle pulled out its seldom used pocket wings and elegantly navigated the tree's upper limbs until the beetle lit safely, not to mention handsomely, on a fat bough several feet below the crow's nest. The crow looked down at the beetle. The beetle stared up at the crow. The crow and the beetle held stare in a shared knowing that theirs was a strange yet special relationship. The beetle tipped its pincers at the crow and began to descend the tree back to its home in the inner nook of the forest. Until next time, called the crow, watching what would have been such a delicious meal, simply walk away. The crow thought that despite the beetle's kindness, and despite the crow's own brand of heroism, the crow still wasn't convinced it could repeat such restraint upon their next encounter. I shall cross that bridge when I come to it. The crow consoled itself and began feasting upon the beetle shell pie with great delight, with both the crow and the beetle living to see another day.