Poems by Isobella Jade

Armadillos, Motherhood, and My Divorce

by Isobella Jade

From Canary Summer 2024

The arboretum near Isobella's home in Houston gives her a glimpse of the wildlife that live in prairies, marshes and woodlands in the Gulf Coast region. She walks and writes in her journal among the tall loblolly pines and bald cypress trees that line trails and ponds. It's a normal thing to see hawks, herons and egrets, or spy a broad-banded water snake.

In their burrows down under the earth four armadillo pups are opening their eyes. They do not know about the purple and yellow wildflowers and new life that is blooming above them. Once the babies have emerged into their new world, their soft shells will begin to strengthen over time and become protective shields from any harm. Their mother will be their support, their supplier of nutrients, their eyes. The pups will soon walk on the mulched trails I’ve been walking upon, existing among the tall pines, the ponds and lilies, the blue sky.

The first time I saw an armadillo at the arboretum, I noticed how it worked alone. It was so focused on diligently devouring bugs, beetles, spiders, ants, worms, snails and other grubs for nourishment as though nothing could sway its determination to succeed. And I identified with that.

Since then, when I see an armadillo out in the forest, I always assume it is a female, a mom rooting around by herself, doing the best she can. This thought alone has helped me find healing from longing for my kids, whom I am only able to see every other week. When it isn’t my week, I focus on the invisible connection my children and I share, and I walk out hopefully to look for an armadillo.

I had never seen an armadillo until I moved to Houston from Manhattan, but now I see the State Small Mammal of Texas all the time.

The nine long thin lines on armadillos are like stacking rings. Noticing the intricate brown and tan bead-like design on the rest of its back, I wondered if it is related to a turtle. Looking at the plates that cover its very long tail, I could assume its gene pool includes rats that hide under the ground in New York City subway stations.

The armadillo’s strong claws help them to dig, and they spend their lives tunneling for safe space, where they sleep for half of the day or longer, only emerging to seek and gain sustenance in the early morning or at dusk. Their cute piglet-like ears catch my eye. Watching them sniff the earth with their long snouts, I might have thought they could be related to wild boars.

But I would be wrong: the armadillo’s odd characteristics, including its massive dome-shaped shell, have been passed down from its prehistoric origins from the great glyptodons. As the armadillo bows its head to dig at the soil near the ponds with muddy claws, I think about its fascinating origins.

The sounds of the armadillo making a racket in the woods at dusk, snuffling the ground in the forest and ignoring passing trail walkers make me smile and feel uplifted somehow.

Often it is just us: the armadillo and me, two moms in the prairie or woods under the tall pines, busy doing our work. Mine is more internal, thinking, processing, accepting where I am now, figuring out my direction. Her work is within the earth, digging for nutrients to sustain her and her babies.

I stare at the armadillo, scurrying around in the brush and long grasses, sniffing below the pine trees for bugs, exploring fallen branches, and pausing to dig a hole. She’s a curious creature, a peaceful wanderer, making her way in the world without full sight. Armadillos lack light-detecting cells and have blurry, colorless vision. Despite her poor eyesight she’s driven forward, digging her holes away from predators.

Baby armadillos have bad eyesight like their mother, but they find their way and thrive upon the earth just the same with the devoted care of their mothers. The armadillo pays no attention to me in its persistent digging and tunneling. She doesn’t look back, only focuses on what’s ahead. I try to take my cue from her and focus on what’s in front of me to create a new vision for my future.