When the Sky Falls

By Jennifer Schneider

Growing up, my children had a curious relationship with the story of Henny Penny, a tale that centers on a chicken who constantly fears the sky is falling. Although my kids, the youngest especially, adopted the concerns and fears of the text’s protagonist, they begged to repeat the reading experience – often daily. It was as if the possibility of the sky falling was simultaneously terrifying and mesmerizing. The hype was a curious blend of caution and creation -- something akin to the rhyming and cause-and-effect nature of rubble and trouble or the pleasing contentment of an extra serving of peanut butter and jelly on Wonder (no crumbs remaining).

“Could the sky really fall,” they’d ask, eyes on me. 

“It can’t be,” I’d say, then watch their soft curls bounce,

bounce in reply.

“Are you sure,” their eyes, open wide, would inquire. Again,

and again -- in between readings and rare periods of rest. 

“No need to worry,” I’d say, as if the query were a test.

Then, to distract, divert, and ultimately detour their attention, I’d tell them to look down -- at the expanse of life in the soil and just beyond their feet (Keds and Converse laces neatly tied). To count. Steps and stones. Lady bugs and earthworms. 

“Look! See how they regenerate!” I’d say, as I’d point then squint for sights and signs of segments and recognition.

“And the perennials -- they come back each year! What a feat!” 

Inhale! 

Sweetly scented lilac and baby’s breath. Honeysuckle and lilies of the valley. Magic carpets and evening primrose. I, too, almost believed.

To hush a child’s worry --

Life! Lush!

Seeds and serendipity. 

Solid footing and security.

Roots and regularity.

Yesterday, a highway collapsed in Philly. 

After a truck beneath its underbelly caught fire. 

The sky fell and the ground crumbled.

Two of the very things I’d promised

could never happen. A family forever uprooted. 

A city of people, others passing through, distracted, 

diverted, detoured for miles. The impact likely

long, the news segment reports. I listen, but hear 

only my own circularity, carefree dismissals,

and curious cautions -- if rubble makes trouble

still rhymes, as does Wonder and thunder 

-- the possibility 

of both the sky and the ground falling 

just doubled,

in real time. 

“Don’t be silly,” I’d say. “The sky is safe.

The ground is secure.”

Now, I wonder –

What’s the risk of 

well-intentioned reassurance 

and the instability of faith

in infrastructure that build our days.

News reports note an uncanny similarity

to a crash back in the nineties. 

The 1996 blaze occurred a few months 

prior to the birth of my oldest child. 

Henny Penny a gift on his first birthday.

I wonder -- 

if I’d known the sky could indeed fall

alongside the soil on which I’d stall,

would I have altered what I said

when my babies voiced their fear

and, if so, what might we have learned?

Source: https://6abc.com/interstate-95-collapse-i-95-fire-philadelphia-i95-closed-1996-in-philly/13369393/

Reflection: I spent Saturday night cleaning out my attic and came across a once-loved story of Henny Penny. I woke Sunday morning to news of a local fire and reports of not only the sky but the ground falling. As details emerged, the story was reminiscent of another tragedy from way back in 1996. It’s true -- history repeats itself and as children age, infrastructure follows suit. What does this say for our future?