. . .for Sarah, our own delightful Virgo, on her birthday
Several years ago, when the Woodland Wonders deck was finished–all the illustrations done, all the poems written– I had a sinking feeling that something meaningful was coming to a close. Although it was a relief to have all of the cards completed, it was also a bit of a let-down. No more searching for the perfect animal to represent whatever season, planet or element I was currently working on. No more anticipating what new poem or story might pop into my head, anxiously waiting to be set free upon the page. I’m embarrassed to say, I actually began to fear that all the wonderful visitations from my animal friends had sadly come to an end.
It was one early evening, as I was walking around our neighborhood indulging in these very thoughts, that a huge owl came swooping down right over my head, as if to say,
Don’t be ridiculous! Of course we will continue to visit you!
Stop feeling sorry for yourself!
Then it flew up to perch on a nearby rooftop, glaring sternly as if to admonish me for even considering such a notion.
In my own defense, there had been something of a lull in the frequency and intensity of my animal encounters over the last few years. I am happy to report; however, that little by little I am beginning to reconnect with my animal friends, as they have begun showing up more frequently in all of their sweet and wonderful glory.
Things started to improve very simply, as I began noticing various critters being more cooperative than usual as I attempted to take their photos. Previously, no sooner would I raise my camera than my subject would either take flight or skitter away nervously. This happened so often that I had pretty much given up on trying to take pictures at all. Lately, though, it seems that they have been almost eager to pose. I’ve been able to capture an adorable red beetle atop a magnificently bulbous wildflower, a cleverly camouflaged lizard sunning itself on a stone wall, and a very chill heron who didn’t move a muscle as it allowed me to approach at very close range.
Gradually, other connections were beginning to return. For example, I was able to strike up a most satisfying relationship with a mature hawk that hung out in an aging oak tree near our son’s front garden where I was working for several weeks. Upon arriving just after dawn each day, I found the hawk perched high up on her branch, ready to greet me by setting up a chatter that would continue non-stop the whole time I was there. She would fly down occasionally to rest on our cedar fence or to roost in the branches of the small maple tree nearby, always ultimately returning to her home base in the branches of the huge oak, chattering congenially the whole time. Her conversation was always very friendly, only raising her voice if some young rapscallion had the temerity to intrude on her territory. On those rare occasions, she would shoo them away in no uncertain terms with a loud display of fierceness and bravery, proving that their young hawkish bravado was no match for her fortitude and maturity.
But I knew things were definitely on the upswing when a couple of days ago I encountered a very special lady duck.
~ ~ ~
Recently I have been taking walks along a lovely, paved pathway that meanders between the Snake River on one side and a newly developed wetland area on the other. The wetlands are dense with thickets that house a great many plant and animal species: cattails full of redwing blackbirds, bushes and saplings of every variety, and even a confused moose who had wandered in and taken refuge there. The gnawed off trunks of saplings, pointy as newly sharpened pencils, and the beaten down paths where felled trees have been dragged through the swampy grasses, give evidence of the nightly labors of the beaver families living there. Occasionally you might catch a glimpse of a mallard family weaving its way through the dense straight stalks of reeds springing up like sentinels from the shallow waters or hear the throaty croak of a toad claiming his territory. In addition to this wildlife, both sides of the path are lined with a delightful array of plants and wildflowers that pop up spontaneously from early spring through late summer.
On this particular day, as I neared the end of the path where the river and wetlands almost meet, I encountered a female mallard duck covered in droplets of water who had clearly just climbed up out of the river.
I assumed she was using this narrow crossing point to make her way from the river to the protective shelter of the wetlands. However, rather than scurrying into the thick cover of the marshy grasses, she chose to stand in the middle of the path and stare at me as she dripped dry.
Her demeanor was neither aggressive nor confrontational, but rather amiable and almost conversational. I actually felt compelled to greet her, saying hello, and chatting a bit, to which she responded with seeming interest and polite attention. After our little confab she slowly crossed in front of me, making her way toward the marshes on the other side of the paved path, while taking her own sweet time to “stop and smell the roses” so to speak. She did not immediately duck into the cover of the marshy swamp but began calmly nibbling away at a tangle of vines at her feet.
A closer look confirmed that she was carefully picking something edible and having herself quite a feast.
I looked up to realize for the first time that there were huge bushes, chock full of berries in all different stages of ripeness, lining the side of the path.
Although not certain, I thought they were most likely blackberries and decided if they were safe for Mrs. Duck they were probably safe for me. So, determined to have a treat myself, I began picking. It was wonderful. The redder berries were tangy and tart. The darker ones were juicy and sweet as nectar. I enjoyed my fill, choosing the fruits higher up on the bush, making sure to leave most of the mid-level berries for the deer, foxes and other wildlife that would surely visit this spot nightly to feast under cover of darkness.
Mrs. Duck, finally satisfied, eventually waddled off and slipped soundlessly into the shallow waters of the wetlands, disappearing into the dense foliage, contented, peaceful and remarkably self-contained. I also am more content these days to stop searching and anticipating, allowing the most precious moments to come to me in their own time. No hurries, no worries. Just like dear Mrs. Duck, who knows better than most how to take it slow and enjoy life’s little pleasures.
