There is no age limit to intuition. We are “taught” to ignore the instincts we have as children. But I believe that we get them back as we get older and have seen enough of the world.
There is a story about me during my childhood that my grandmother loves to recall every chance she gets, to every new person in my life. As she would say, “It goes like this ....”
We lived in Lincoln Heights, a suburb of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. It was a beautiful little neighborhood filled with all types of people from Italians, to Germans, to Croatians. We were very happy. Grandma’s house was situated at the top of a hill which flattened out for about one hundred fifty feet, then dropped off sharply as a grassy slope that ended in pure woodsy land. She had a beauty salon in the basement of her house and was always busy, but always somehow made time for her “little Micki.”
Living with Grandma, I had some of my happiest times going to the woods with her to pick blackberries, which grew to huge sizes. We made frequent trips “down the hill for berries,” with Grandma holding my hand and a large metal bucket and me holding my little beach sand bucket in little gloved hands, holding tightly to Grandma.
Oh, but you know little girls. They tend to think they can do things on their own, when sometimes they can’t. So, one day when Grandma was booked up in her salon, I decided to surprise her by getting the blackberries all by myself. I was very grown up. I put matching socks on, and not forgetting my windbreaker, I grabbed the bucket and made my way down the hill, not heeding Grandma’s constant warning about getting lost in the woods. Warnings go by the wayside when you are trying to impress someone you care about, sometimes. Especially when you’re three or four years old.
Once down the hill, I was very “adult” and made sure that I wore my gloves and was careful of the thorns that were more abundant on the bushes than the berries. However, not being Christopher Columbus, and not knowing who Christopher Columbus was at my age, I made my way farther and farther into the woods. I was concentrating on the berries I collected that would make Grandma so proud, after all.
After a while, a little girl gets tired and needs to sit down. I sat down all right, right up against a blackberry bush, and the thorns took control of my windbreaker. There I was, lost in the middle of the woods, and held hostage by a bush! All I could do was cry and thrash around, causing me to dump my hard earned bucket of berries, which caused me to cry all the harder.
I sat there in the middle of the woods about a mile from the house, crying and fighting with a bush. I called to Grandma, but she didn’t seem to hear me. But, then, I heard her. Not with my ears, but my head all the same. I grew calmer. I heard, “Micki, tell Grandma where you are.” I told her in my small voice but with all the love in my heart, “Grandma, I’m stuck on a blackberry bush, and I’m lost.” I was looking around and saw different trees that Grandma evidently recognized, and in about a half hour, she found me. About fifteen minutes later, I was covered in calamine lotion and being kissed and scolded at the same time. I never felt so safe.
Hindsight being what it is, I know she could not have heard me. She would tell you that she heard me very clearly. I believe she did.
