Owl Howl

The owls sound like monkeys here.  Of course, I didn't know that at first and felt that somewhere along the way I'd made a major turn towards the wrong continent.  It took me awhile to identify the species going 'a-hoot-hoot-hoot-a-ka-ka-ka" in the woods every evening, but with the help of friends, I did, and I feel more comfortable now.  It's  good to know things, as being unawares is disconcerting.  But knowing how the owls sound from a distance doesn't help a whole lot, really, because of course they are so quiet up close.  Several times I've seen owls while walking in the woods, but only after they've eyed me in dead silence as I lug myself a full quarter mile through thicket and ravine to where they happen to be inconspicuously perched only feet above my head.  And then, with a sudden and loud "Awooosh!!!" they fall through the air directly in front of me and make a bee-line to a tree only a short ways ahead.  They're laughing, I know, and it doesn't end there, because then — knowing they're now the object of my full and startled attention — they marvelously twist their heads around a full one-eighty degrees and STARE.  Yes, they do.  It's like a game they play, poking fun at my dumb self, stumbling.  I love it though.  As far as I'm concerned, they can poke all the fun they want!  I never felt so honored being teased in all my life!

Bright Eyes

Spring in Whisperwood has been stunning.  After a dry winter the rains came, and everything changed. The crackly browns receded 'neath a verdant mantle, new, and wildflowers — their yellows, purple,  reds and blue  — decorated everything.  Here is Fire Pink, or "Silene Virginica".  I call her Bright Eyes.  She lives in Whisperwood, preferring the rocky cliff that straddles the garden slope.  Some call her Catch Fly, as her stems are sticky and trap the insects dawdling by.

Hello, Bright Eyes!

What do you see

with that face of yours,

so cheery today?

How pretty you are

by the stone —

sprightly,

oh, so gay!

First Bear Sighting

I saw a bear for the first time, only three days ago!  I was in my tent, dawn had barely illumined the woods, and I heard a soft padding o'er the ground, quieter than even a deer.  I looked out the window and there he was, striding towards camp, immensely agile, like a cat.  His coat was blackest black, pitch-black, and luminous, precisely groomed.  He was absolutely stunning.

Cautiously he strode to the wood pile thirty feet away.  He sniffed the air, and then turned around, re-traced his steps, and circled the unmarked perimeter of my property, as if honoring boundaries somehow.  I was more exhilarated than scared.  Though he was so large and strong, immediately I saw the care with which he moved, his tentative manner.  This was no marauding monster.  Here was a careful, sensitive creature, more concerned for his well-being than with harassing a new neighbor.  I was awed with the privilege of seeing this creature.

Seeing the bear has helped me immensely.  Call it "God", "Goddess", or the "Universe", it feels as though I was provided the opportunity to find that the animal is NOT going to maul me in my tent (as AK fondly suggested) — unless, of course, I slather myself in honey!  I dare say the bear was better at honoring boundaries than are many human beings!

Bear sightings in this area are rare.  Some of my neighbors have gone thirty years and never seen a bear.  Yet Charlie has made their acquaintance three times in the last two years, and I, in only my second day in the woods, have had the honor.  Seems they appear to the timid among us who've struggled with fears inordinate all our lives.  They embolden us, as if to say "peer in the face of pure power; see how careful it can be, how thoughtful and serene."

I want to remind everyone NEVER to feed the bears.   Wild animals accustomed to people feeding them can become extremely dangerous.  Case in point:  cayotes have never been known to attack people, but now are doing so in parts of California where tourists have been feeding them in the parks.

Googly Eyes in the Night

I knew the instant I saw those eyes that this wasn't an ordinary visitor.  The night was dark, and the eyes were huge, gleaming in the light of my lamp, and far apart.  That wasn't the head of a possum, no.  That was a large head, had to be at least a foot wide for eyes like that — much bigger than human eyes, bigger than an even an owl's eyes — and it was on all fours.  It lumbered up and down as it sniffed the air in my direction.  I shuddered in the tent.

"Bear!" I gasped.

I had hoped to postpone this part of my wilderness communion, but here he was already, downwind and moving in my direction.  My heart quivered like the wings of a hummingbird, only I couldn't fly.  I was trapped, with this thing bearing down on me.

Trying to keep my eyes on it's advance, I lunged for the knife and pepper spray AK warned me to keep on hand.  I was armed, alright, yet failed to see the good these items could do me in the face of a creature the size o' THAT!!!

I couldn't breathe.

"Knock some metal together," I directed myself.  "Bears hate the sound of metal knocking."

I rapped the knife on the can of spray, loudly and sharp.  The head jerked upwards, on alert.

"Yep, just like a bear," I said.

I rapped again.  It leapt.  NOT like a bear.  I could see the body now, the body of a  deer, large, as it sailed away.

I laughed and laughed; me scared of a skittish deer!  My track record in the scaredy-who department is kinda' low, I realize.  It'll improve,  I promise!  In the meantime, hey — it's worth a laugh!

Attack of the Scaredy-who's

It's late at night.  A strong westerly wind whips the sides of the tent, and there are lots of noises, rasping.  I glance nervously through the window to see the faint outlines of a creature only feet away.  Goose bumps tickle my arms.  It's maybe the size of a raccoon, head swaying hither and fro in it's approach.  I'm not afraid of raccoons — problem is I'm not sure it really IS a raccoon!  Nor am I privy to the accurate dimensions of the thing.  I AM sure that it's far too close for comfort, considering all the unknowns.  Bravely I grab my headlamp and shine the high beam through the window towards the scary thing.  Baby elm tree.

Okay, so I'm a little green.  I DID grow up in the country, but it's been 30 years.  And I AM somewhat surprised and embarrassed to find I have more than my share of the scaredy-who's, but I'm doin' this thing anyway, and aside from the fears, I'm happier than a tickled pig's tail to be here!