June 3, 2024

The Stoic Heron

I woke up at 4:30 this morning and rolled over to watch my wife’s waking face. It was Monday morning, but we were in good spirits. After putting the dishes away and making coffee, we sat down on the couch together to talk. My wife would be off tomorrow, and we were both excited she would be home for the day.

After my wife left, I sat down and completed a ninety-minute writing session. When I finished, I put on some thick pants, a hoodie, grabbed my cameras and slipped on my boots. The air outside was thick this morning. Although North Carolina didn’t get as hot as Texas, the humidity here created its own unique challenges.

The sky was dark, and the tall trees shaded the forest. As I entered the pine grove, I could hear the four dogs howling, upset they were not taking a morning walk with me. We’ve kept them out of the woods since there are fawns bedded down in the area. While Bodhi and Axel wouldn’t harm them, Kilo and Koda, upon spotting live prey, turned near-feral.

Their howls seemed a little silly and overdramatic, but I couldn’t blame them. I realized I felt the same way every time my wife left the house. She would always be back home later, but the feeling of seeing her leave brought hints of loneliness that seemed to merit my inner howls.

As I made my way through the grove, I saw the food we had laid out was completely gone. The corn and apples were nowhere to be found, a sure sign that either the deer were hungry, or that more herds were moving through the area. I felt surprised to find an empty corn husk about a hundred yards from the feeding area. I never expected to find another empty husk over three hundred yards away. Something had carried off the cobs, away from the feeding area.

I kept moving along the trails, noting the dark clouds were now above the forest. A few minutes later, it rained. Alongside the trails grew several species of wild mushrooms. My favorites this morning were two types of large red mushrooms. One had a long stem with an opened cap that looked flat like a reddish-colored sand dollar. The other’s cap was closed, making it the exact shape and color of a small Roma tomato.

In several areas around the trails, thick spiderwebs grew, fashioned into thick three-dimensional patterns. The webs extended up and down, and from side to side, some larger than a basketball. The webs near the tree line lit up with the sunlight, glistening from the morning dew and rain.

While walking, I found several more odd looking mushrooms. One mushroom had a flat hood about the size and color of a perfectly cooked golden pancake. Another’s cap grew vertically, and had striations that made it look like a giant clamshell. I noted I should learn more about all the fungi in the forest. The animals in the forest seemed to know which mushrooms made tasty snacks and which ones they should avoid.

While walking alongside the creek’s bank, I arrived at a point where a southern stream connected to a northern stream. In the past, I had seen beavers, otters, and ducks here. I stopped to inspect the area for movement, taking a few pictures of the green reflections bouncing off the water. Just as I snapped my first photo, I heard a deer bark six or seven times, seeing it after it moved out from behind cover.

I continued moving toward the small marsh, walking as quietly as possible. Peering through the brush and trees, I saw the perfect silhouette of a familiar shape. A heron stood still, standing straight up, its beak extending down toward the water. I waited two years to capture this bird in a photo. Would I be able to get a clear shot? Would it flush as soon as I moved to get a better view?

I moved slowly to get back on the trail. When I took my last step, a small twig, hidden by the tall grass, snapped under the weight of my boot, making a loud cracking noise. To my surprise, the bird didn’t move. The experience felt a little too good to be true, and when I finally got a clear view of the marsh, I erupted in laughter. A tree stump, shaped like a heron, had a broken piece resembling its head and beak. Would I ever shoot that bird?

I took a deep breath. While capturing images of nature on my camera was rewarding, being outdoors was the real prize. Soaking in nature’s story as it unfolded, enjoying both its calm and excitement, was one of the best investments of time in my daily routine. Two birds called out, one on the right, the other on the left. They sang in unison, sounding like a perfectly mastered soundscape in stereo.

On the way back toward my house, I took a detour into the pine grove. There, I found a feather shed by a crow. It was so black that it had a blue tint, and small beads of water formed atop of the small striations that made up the geometric pattern of the feather’s design. In the same area, I stopped to watch a small spider build its web. The tiny creature moved quickly, stringing straight lines in obtuse angles that created the illusion of a round web.

The workday was busy, and I found myself glued to my office chair, stopping occasionally to look out the window at the pouring rain. Later in the evening, I ate a nice dinner with my wife before taking a walk into the forest. In the woods, I discovered a tiny box turtle posted in the grove. The forest was humid from all the rain, and the creek gurgled once again. At night, I stood outside with my wife on the deck, and we listened to the sounds of a barred owl near our home in the forest. It was a day full of nature and full of life.