February 26, 2024
This morning, coffee happened while sitting on the couch, which now faced the south windows looking out at the pasture. A small herd of deer feeding in the area completed our view. Once the caffeine kicked in, my wife got ready for work while I edited more photos in Lightroom. After she left, I readied for a morning walk through the woods.
The sunrise came in several horizontal streaks of varying color. Near the horizon, just above the tree line, sat a thin, bright pink band. Above this was a larger line of purplish color, followed by another pink stripe, opening up into wider swaths of magenta, orange, and finally yellow. The clouds reflected the light, casting a soft glow onto the forest and surrounding farmlands.
During the trek north toward the creek, I spotted several disturbances in the pine needles coving the forest floor, likely made by deer and squirrels sniffing out mushrooms and stray corn kernels. I heard a small downy woodpecker tapping on a tall budding tree. Under the tree sat wild daffodils growing, their bright yellow petals calling out from the drab surrounding foliage. Each day, the woods are coming more to life. Last week, this place looked desolate and barren. Now, a light green tint was taking over the forest, created from tiny leaves sprouting in the thick tree branches.
Ralph Waldo Emerson told us we are more likely to find God in nature than in human-made churches. This morning, as I walked calmly in the quiet light, a realization came over me. My walks through the woods felt sacred. This special place I entered before the sun touched the morning and evening horizons was, for me, an act of purification. Nature created circumstances that birthed humility, gratitude, and faith. It brought to us a desire to embody noble principles like veracity, benevolence, and rectitude.
Every Sunday, I saw people in public, who have just left their place of moral learning, only to show that they are just as lost as when they walked into their concrete buildings and ideas. The forest changed me, returned me to my original self, free from constructed ideas; free from concepts of self. These days, religion seems to me to be a contract people sign hoping to gain indirect control over themselves and their environment. But only nature is bold enough to tell us the truth: we are insignificant and out of control.
Three of the seven eggs remained on Beaver Tooth Rock. There were eggshells scattered about and something had pushed one egg off the rock. It lay on the dirt and ferns cracked open, its yellow yolk exposed. I checked the trail camera and saw a lone raccoon feasting in the dark. Sitting quietly on the rock, I listened to the symphony playing before me. The creek gurgled loudly, a lone crow cawed above the forest canopy, and I heard the faint crow of a rooster from a nearby farm. The morning was delightful.
During my lunch break, I walked into the pine grove to search out pear trees with their white blossoms. In the central part of the grove, near the eastern tree line, there was a twisted pine growing next to a pear tree. The white flowers growing near the flowing pine made for magnificent pictures last year. I found the trees and discovered the buds had not yet bloomed.
I walked north and found a place to sit and rest. Several insects buzzed by me, more signs that spring was near. A large turkey vulture flew above the creek, later returning with several of its friends. These birds are impressively large. With their pitch black feathers and red turkey-like head, the vultures look menacing and repulsive. A large woodpecker flew up into a tree whose base was right beside me. The noise from the bird pecking on the trunk thirty feet above me was surprisingly loud at the tree’s base.
My break was over, so I cut across the forest to a trail on the west side of the property, walking alongside the creek on the way. When the pathway came close to the creek’s southern stream, I saw something in the water. It was an otter. The small mammal looked much different from the beavers I saw in the area. Its fur was shiny and sleek, looking gray when wet. It looked long and lean. I watched the otter glide through the creek before climbing onto the opposite bank and slipping into the brush that led to another nearby stream. Last year, my wife saw an otter waddle across our front yard, but this was the first time I saw one at the creek.
Our evening plans for picking up dinner from Pinot’s fell apart when we realized the pizzeria was closed on Mondays. Hesitantly, we drove into Wilson to the Olive Garden, where the experience fell short of mediocre. On the way home, we vowed not to return to the restaurant.
Bad news I received during dinner overshadowed the whole evening. Earlier, my mother called to inform me that her youngest sister had been intubated. She had suffered from health challenges for several years and this evening she passed away. I had not seen my aunt in several years, but it always hurts to lose someone you know and love. Even when I read the obituaries in the local paper, thoughts of losing my wife sober me to the realities of life. We just don’t have as much control as we would like. Even now, typing these words, thinking about my aunt, my mother, their siblings, my cousins, and uncle, it is all exceedingly heavy.
About a week ago, a childhood friend's daughter lost her life. She was just twenty-four years old, the same age my nephew was when someone shot and killed him at a party. Life is full of hardship and pain, sometimes unbearably so. This is why we have to carefully measure our actions while we are still alive and able. Tonight, my friends and family are on my mind and in my heart. I hope the ugly end to life does not outweigh their happy memories of what once was. It’s a daunting proposition to fill the emptiness of absence with memories that fade.