It wasn’t the chimpanzees that attracted my daughter to Jane Goodall. It was the chickens.
It’s a seemingly small biographical detail compared with the international accolades bestowed upon the revered primatologist: When she was 4 years old, the young Dr. Goodall was charged with collecting eggs on her grandmother’s farm.
She later told interviewers that it was this task that prompted the sort of wonder and curiosity that shaped her career. Where did that egg come from? Could she wait long enough to find out? Why did some hens squawk and flap in fear when she came near, and if she sat very still, would they become more comfortable?
Why We Wrote This
With the world remembering Jane Goodall, I asked my daughter again why she was so interested in the primatologist. The answer: Dr. Goodall “realized something true that nobody else recognized.”
When my Lydia was the same age, she was also in charge of egg collection. She would set off with her slightly older sister, Madeline, in their ruffly dresses and muck boots, across the dewy ground to our accidental chicken family. We had adopted a collection of abandoned roosters that somehow wandered onto our property, and hens I wrangled from a neighboring farmer to keep them company. My girls learned what made chickens peck, what made them cluck, which ones wanted hugs (very few), and which seemed happy to hang out with us (many).
Dr. Goodall also had Rusty, her dog, and wrote about what he taught her about other species and their capacity for intelligence, communication, and love.
Our pups were Karoo and Skye.
Neither Dr. Goodall nor my daughters questioned whether these beings had personalities or felt emotion.
I wasn’t surprised when, as a fifth grader, Lydia picked Dr. Goodall for the subject of her “biography project.” She spent weeks surrounded by a pile of books from the library, sticky notes everywhere, furiously taking notes and occasionally moaning about how on earth could she get all this information into one tight narrative. (She has observed her mother, as well.)
But the first sentence of her first paragraph kept causing frustration.
“Jane Goodall observed things nobody else saw,” she wrote.
The student teacher – who had somehow found herself in charge of editing a dozen 10-year olds – returned gentle critiques. What were Dr. Goodall’s scientific findings? she asked. Could Lydia please give examples? My fifth grade daughter did her best, but the second draft was equally vague. As the resident expert, I tried to help.
I write about the environment, a beat that often includes studies about animals and other scientific findings. There is eye-opening research documenting the ways other species solve problems, show empathy, and decipher riddles – a growing field largely influenced by Dr. Goodall. Not long ago, I wrote a cover story for the Monitor’s magazine about the moral questions brought on by our growing understanding of animal consciousness, as well as the lingering questions about how to measure the experience of beings with totally different sensory systems.
Surely, I suggested to my daughter, she could mention some studies, some research, some facts that Dr. Goodall introduced into the world.
Lydia sighed.
That was two years ago. This week, with the news of Dr. Goodall’s passing, I asked my daughter again about that project. Did she remember why she was so taken by Dr. Goodall? I asked.
“She realized something true that nobody else recognized,” the more articulate seventh grader answered. “She knew that animals were complex, that they had feelings, emotions. And she was willing to fight for that truth.”
What she was trying to explain in that earlier essay, she said, was that Dr. Goodall saw a truth that the “experts” around her couldn’t – or wouldn’t – recognize.
It was clear when the chimpanzees were sad, when they were content, when they were angry, the scientist wrote. It was clear they deserved names. And that resonated with my daughter. After all, she had seen that truth in her own backyard.
Later in life, Dr. Goodall spoke with interviewers about the way humans can go astray when we idolize intellect above all else. The heart, she would say, is just as important. Our intellect may lead us in amazing directions. But the greater force is love.
In 1991, Dr. Goodall founded Roots & Shoots, an environmental network that gives young people the tools to both identify and work to solve those challenges they see in their own communities. Today, both of my daughters say they want to start a chapter at their school. They are inspired by Dr. Goodall. Not for her awards, or documentaries, or even her beautiful lectures and books and influence on the way we practice science.
They are motivated by her because she showed the power of climbing trees and tending chickens and loving dogs; she showed how trusting love can foster the creativity to help the world.
