Selfish Giants

In the quiet of early morning, as I sit in my little writing studio out back, I hear them coming—Canada geese. We are smack dab in the flyway. First, a   lone honk, then, a multitude of song—honk, honk, honk as the formation sails overhead on their way to one of the last bodies of water in the area: Touchstone Lake.

“They” say it’s not really a lake; it’s a storm water retention basin,” yet when the Canada geese glide in for a landing, what do they see? A lake! Well, what used to be a lake. And there are others. A Great Blue heron appears now and then to offer a fabulous gift to those who see him standing silent and still in the ever-shrinking “lake.” And then there are the snowy white egrets and other birds that come to the water’s edge for a small respite from the 100 degree temps the past week.

Yet, as the waters recede due to drought conditions–no rain, heat, and the lack of homeowners watering their lawns (remember the storm drains empty into the lake), there is less and less habitat for the birds. And the “others” that remain almost invisible—koi carp and pond turtles—they, too, struggle in the shallow, thick-with-mud, still water. The “storm water retention basin” has been their home for 20 years. What can they do? Hitch a ride to another pond? No, they die. They die and children at Southport Elementary walk by with their parents, or mothers stroll past with their toddlers in strollers, or soccer parents stop in for a short “duck feeding session” with their kids before or after a game—and what will they see? Fish and turtles, belly up in hard mud, starting to decay and rot in the 100 degree September sun? And no birds. Not a pretty sight.

Yet, the “Homeowner’s Association” says, We cannot add water; it is wasting water. Even though it is clearly written in the “City ordinance” that adding water to artificial lakes and ponds is permissible. Even if it isn’t “permissible” it is the right thing to do!

The City has the authority and the power to intervene. To add emergency water to the pond—just enough to keep the north end wet enough til the rains come. And they will come. Yet, they say it’s not their responsibility. The BIG picture must be seen; even though rains will come, and the pond will be full again, there must be a solution to this surely-to-come-again dilemma.

The geese fly over my house every morning; I imagine them standing in the inches-deep pond, walking instead of paddling. They can fly elsewhere, perhaps to the Sacramento River, yet imagine how quiet it will be without them. And imagine the day your little boy or girl sees their first Great Blue Heron standing in the little retention basin—probably one of the first and maybe the only Great Blue he or she will ever see—then, take that away. No water, no herons. No water, no geese. No water, no snowy egrets. No water, dead fish. Dead turtles. Great Blue Heron

As a little girl, I read a story, “The Selfish Giant,” by Oscar Wilde. I have searched for that story for the past 20 years—and until this morning, I couldn’t find it. I had asked my sister the title, but she didn’t remember, and today, I searched with the right words, and there it was. As I read along, my eyes filled with tears as memories returned. Shouldn’t everyone have the joy of spring and birdsong? People need to pull their heads out of the sand and STAND UP FOR WHAT’S RIGHT.

The Selfish Giant

From The Happy Prince and Other Tales (1888)

Every afternoon, as they were coming from school, the children used to go and play in the Giant’s garden.

It was a large lovely garden, with soft green grass. Here and there over the grass stood beautiful flowers like stars, and there were twelve peach-trees that in the spring-time broke out into delicate blossoms of pink and pearl, and in the autumn bore rich fruit. The birds sat on the trees and sang so sweetly that the children used to stop their games in order to listen to them. “How happy we are here!” they cried to each other.

One day the Giant came back. He had been to visit his friend the Cornish ogre, and had stayed with him for seven years. After the seven years were over he had said all that he had to say, for his conversation was limited, and he determined to return to his own castle. When he arrived he saw the children playing in the garden.

“What are you doing here?” he cried in a very gruff voice, and the children ran away.

“My own garden is my own garden,” said the Giant; “any one can understand that, and I will allow nobody to play in it but myself.” So he built a high wall all round it, and put up a notice-board.




He was a very selfish Giant.

The poor children had now nowhere to play. They tried to play on the road, but the road was very dusty and full of hard stones, and they did not like it. They used to wander round the high wall when their lessons were over, and talk about the beautiful garden inside. “How happy we were there,” they said to each other.

Then the Spring came, and all over the country there were little blossoms and little birds. Only in the garden of the Selfish Giant it was still winter. The birds did not care to sing in it as there were no children, and the trees forgot to blossom. Once a beautiful flower put its head out from the grass, but when it saw the notice-board it was so sorry for the children that it slipped back into the ground again, and went off to sleep. The only people who were pleased were the Snow and the Frost. “Spring has forgotten this garden,” they cried, “so we will live here all the year round.” The Snow covered up the grass with her great white cloak, and the Frost painted all the trees silver. Then they invited the North Wind to stay with them, and he came. He was wrapped in furs, and he roared all day about the garden, and blew the chimney-pots down. “This is a delightful spot,” he said, “we must ask the Hail on a visit.” So the Hail came. Every day for three hours he rattled on the roof of the castle till he broke most of the slates, and then he ran round and round the garden as fast as he could go. He was dressed in grey, and his breath was like ice.

“I cannot understand why the Spring is so late in coming,” said the Selfish Giant, as he sat at the window and looked out at his cold white garden; “I hope there will be a change in the weather.”


But the Spring never came, nor the Summer. The Autumn gave golden fruit to every garden, but to the Giant’s garden she gave none. “He is too selfish,” she said. So it was always Winter there, and the North Wind, and the Hail, and the Frost, and the Snow danced about through the trees.

One morning the Giant was lying awake in bed when he heard some lovely music. It sounded so sweet to his ears that he thought it must be the King’s musicians passing by. It was really only a little linnet singing outside his window, but it was so long since he had heard a bird sing in his garden that it seemed to him to be the most beautiful music in the world. Then the Hail stopped dancing over his head, and the North Wind ceased roaring, and a delicious perfume came to him through the open casement. “I believe the Spring has come at last,” said the Giant; and he jumped out of bed and looked out.

What did he see?

He saw a most wonderful sight. Through a little hole in the wall the children had crept in, and they were sitting in the branches of the trees. In every tree that he could see there was a little child. And the trees were so glad to have the children back again that they had covered themselves with blossoms, and were waving their arms gently above the children’s heads. The birds were flying about and twittering with delight, and the flowers were looking up through the green grass and laughing. It was a lovely scene, only in one corner it was still winter. It was the farthest corner of the garden, and in it was standing a little boy. He was so small that he could not reach up to the branches of the tree, and he was wandering all round it, crying bitterly. The poor tree was still quite covered with frost and snow, and the North Wind was blowing and roaring above it. “Climb up! little boy,” said the Tree, and it bent its branches down as low as it could; but the boy was too tiny.

And the Giant’s heart melted as he looked out. “How selfish I have been!” he said; “now I know why the Spring would not come here. I will put that poor little boy on the top of the tree, and then I will knock down the wall, and my garden shall be the children’s playground for ever and ever.” He was really very sorry for what he had done.

So he crept downstairs and opened the front door quite softly, and went out into the garden. But when the children saw him they were so frightened that they all ran away, and the garden became winter again. Only the little boy did not run, for his eyes were so full of tears that he did not see the Giant coming. And the Giant stole up behind him and took him gently in his hand, and put him up into the tree. And the tree broke at once into blossom, and the birds came and sang on it, and the little boy stretched out his two arms and flung them round the Giant’s neck, and kissed him. And the other children, when they saw that the Giant was not wicked any longer, came running back, and with them came the Spring. “It is your garden now, little children,” said the Giant, and he took a great axe and knocked down the wall. And when the people were going to market at twelve o’clock they found the Giant playing with the children in the most beautiful garden they had ever seen.

All day long they played, and in the evening they came to the Giant to bid him good-bye.

“But where is your little companion?” he said: “the boy I put into the tree.” The Giant loved him the best because he had kissed him.

“We don’t know,” answered the children; “he has gone away.”

“You must tell him to be sure and come here to-morrow,” said the Giant. But the children said that they did not know where he lived, and had never seen him before; and the Giant felt very sad.

Every afternoon, when school was over, the children came and played with the Giant. But the little boy whom the Giant loved was never seen again. The Giant was very kind to all the children, yet he longed for his first little friend, and often spoke of him. “How I would like to see him!” he used to say.

Years went over, and the Giant grew very old and feeble. He could not play about any more, so he sat in a huge armchair, and watched the children at their games, and admired his garden. “I have many beautiful flowers,” he said; “but the children are the most beautiful flowers of all.”

One winter morning he looked out of his window as he was dressing. He did not hate the Winter now, for he knew that it was merely the Spring asleep, and that the flowers were resting.


Suddenly he rubbed his eyes in wonder, and looked and looked. It certainly was a marvellous sight. In the farthest corner of the garden was a tree quite covered with lovely white blossoms. Its branches were all golden, and silver fruit hung down from them, and underneath it stood the little boy he had loved.

Downstairs ran the Giant in great joy, and out into the garden. He hastened across the grass, and came near to the child. And when he came quite close his face grew red with anger, and he said, “Who hath dared to wound thee?” For on the palms of the child’s hands were the prints of two nails, and the prints of two nails were on the little feet.

“Who hath dared to wound thee?” cried the Giant; “tell me, that I may take my big sword and slay him.”

“Nay!” answered the child; “but these are the wounds of Love.”

“Who art thou?” said the Giant, and a strange awe fell on him, and he knelt before the little child.

And the child smiled on the Giant, and said to him, “You let me play once in your garden, to-day you shall come with me to my garden, which is Paradise.”

And when the children ran in that afternoon, they found the Giant lying dead under the tree, all covered with white blossoms.

The giant lived in a great castle behind a tall, impenetrable wall. The little boy would climb the wall and sit in the giant’s tall, many-limbed tree, among the birds. And the birds would sing beautiful songs. One day, the giant created a barrier so the little boy couldn’t climb over and when he stood in his garden, all was silent. No birds sang, and he was lonely. So he took down the barrier and let the boy climb back over and up the tree and once again the garden was filled with song.



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