February 1, 2024
The dogs must have heard something in the front yard, because they all set off barking. It was 3:47 AM. I got out of bed and jumped into the shower. There was an early yoga class at the Wilson YMCA that I wanted to make this morning.
The drive to the gym was dark, and the frosty night air still lingered. The morning yoga instructor always teaches an exceptional class, and this morning, the room was full of people on yoga mats, stretching as they breathed audibly in and out.
On my way home, the sky was lighting and there was a thick layer of fog everywhere. The ordinary drive home took on an ethereal appearance, as if I were in a dream. Instead of heading home, I passed my turn and headed straight to the reservoir. It was a little before 7 AM and I had time to make it to Buckhorn to catch the sunrise.
When I arrived at the large lake, the place was empty, except for one white truck parked sideways near the pier. I parked in a different location, which I frequented when photographing waterfowl. I stepped out of my truck and rounded the corner, seeing for the first time what the morning brought. It was the most serene vista I’d seen in a long while. Sunrises and sunsets. There’s not one alike, and some look more spectacular than others.
This morning, a dense fog enveloped the entire reservoir. When the colors from the sky hit the thick mist, the light dispersed and softened. The colors of the sunrise filled the entire area with muted shades of blue, pink, orange, and magenta. The scene looked like a minimalistic piece of art with its shifting sky and shimmering water, while white seagulls circled, seemingly in slow motion. I left the reservoir feeling gratitude for my journey that lead me to this haven. After almost two years of immersing myself in nature, she has given me a deeper understanding of the ever thinning line between person and environment.
When I arrived home, I made another coffee and sipped it slowly. The fat from the cream settled my hungry stomach. I remembered the SD cards I pulled from a trail camera and fetched my card reader from my office. There were eighty-one videos, mostly of two or three different deer herds, with an occasional appearance of an opossum, raccoon, or squirrel. One video showed a little raccoon feeding with the deer, everyone looking well acquainted.
I fired off my favorite two videos to my wife, one showing two does walking around on their hind legs like humans. Apparently, they were posturing against each other over the food, but it looked awkward, if not creepy. I was thinking, Not A Deer. IYKYK. The other video showed five bucks, two quite large, hanging out together and feeding. Last year, I was lucky to catch one large buck on a camera, never seeing it with my own eyes. This year, the bucks stopped here.
After work, I took each dog, one at a time, to the pine grove to run. Last year, my wife and I cleared a lane in the grove so we could walk end to end. The walking path has become popular with the deer and other wildlife. This straight path is relatively close to the house and made an excellent running lane for the dogs. With my wife gone and my work busy, I know the dogs have been a little antsy and building up stress.
The time outdoors, running back and forth at full speed, was just the medicine the doctor, or veterinarian I suppose, ordered. While I enjoyed seeing each dog running, it was really special seeing Koda. Last year, he suffered a spinal cord injury, leaving the back half of his body completely paralyzed. He couldn’t walk or relieve himself and we had discussions about putting him down if he didn’t improve. After undergoing steroid therapy, he made an amazing recovery. Although he still walks a little wonky when he first gets up, he can run and jump just fine. It made me smile when he blew past me in the grove at full speed, his long hair flowing in the wind and feet sounding like a galloping horse.
After running the dogs, I took a lone walk into the forest, thinking about how nice it felt having a little private space. My mind drifted back to life in Tokyo, where endless seas of people moved above and below the city streets. In the evenings, I would go back to an apartment that was just a few hundred square feet in size. In a place where people needed personal space, home felt less like an escape from society and more like a tiny prison.
There is no comparing Raleigh or Durham to Tokyo, but I noted how being around too many people for too long tired me. I used to thrive in the city. Life in the fast lane seemed pleasant and felt like progress. But once you’ve lived in the country in a space of your own, you gain a new perspective on life. Society used to seem natural, but now it feels overly designed and constructed. Nature is just the opposite. It feels open and free. When I visit the city, I can’t wait to get back home and into the woods, where I’m more likely to see a deer than another person.
Talking about a life in the city and contrasting it to a life in nature might sound like we’re looking at two versions of the same thing. The city life has its advantages and nature brings its own hardships. But thinking more deeply, we must all admit that living in nature is not the same thing as living outside of it, for one is the place from which we were born, and the other is something people contrived.