March 20, 2024

Blinded By The Light

Last night, I went to sleep late, and when I awoke, my wife was already gone from our bed. When I exited our bedroom, she was sitting on the floor with the dogs. We sat together, debriefing the night before. I told her about the camera club meeting and how delicious the dinner was that she left me. Then we had coffee before she got ready for work. After she left, I sat down to write in the company of four lazy dogs and a second cup of coffee.

Twilight was ending when I left to walk in the woods. Although the weather was not as cold as yesterday, it was still crisp. The usual birds were up singing, mainly wrens and cardinals chirping to the beat of a woodpecker. The resilience of the vegetation in North Carolina amazed me. In Texas, a single cold snap would kill entire trees, making quick work of plants and bushes. But here, things seemed to be used to the cold weather. Even with a late freeze, the flowers just kept blooming as if nothing had happened. I wanted to be as resilient as this forest.

As I walked down a westward trail, the light shone through the forest trees, casting my shadow in front of me. The sun was still close to the horizon, which stretched my shadowy form a good forty yards in front of me. I was sure that any wildlife in the area would see my movement well before I arrived at their location.

The twigs seemed snappy this morning. Usually, I walked without making much noise, occasionally stepping on a small stick accidentally, which made a loud crack that betrayed my presence in the forest. This morning, however, several small twigs cracked loudly under my feet. It was not a good morning for stalking wildlife.

Since moving to the woods, I had practiced moving quietly through the forest. This involved slowing down and taking my time as I moved down the trails. While there was no way to walk completely silent, I discovered there was a difference between keeping the noise close to me and projecting it out into the forest. The key was to keep the kinetic energy low and prevent the sound waves from shooting out into the woods.

I also discovered that the sounds I made could either sound natural or threatening. Moving quickly sounded threatening to wildlife. Oddly enough, trying to move too quietly could also unnerve wary animals like deer. So, I tried to sound like a calm animal, copying the deer’s behavior of stopping every so often, as if I was grazing and then moving on. This seemed to get me closer to deer, as they usually detected my presence but perceived me as safe and disinterested. On the trail cameras, I regularly saw deer feeding with raccoons, opossums, and other mammals. They could coexist with creatures that were not trying to eat them.

When I arrived at Beaver Tooth Rock, I sat down to watch the forest. As usual, I had my camera with me ready to catch any wildlife. Here, I had seen deer, beavers, and an otter. The trail cameras had caught views of several foxes and coyotes. So, daily I went to sit hoping to photograph them, and most days, I came home without seeing a thing. A lot of things in life function this way. Every day, I showed up hoping the conditions were perfect because the goal was difficult to achieve. We have to make an art of controlling the things under our influence, but an end goal can be so difficult and rare that we have to develop our ability to remain patient. We must show up every day and be ready to catch the unicorn or to go home empty-handed without losing the motivation to go out again the next day. I believed the secret here was loosening my grip on the goal and finding pleasure or value in the attempt.

This skill derived its roots from the Japanese concept called Michi, or The Way. It was a practice in which the path was more important than the destination, where the process superseded the product. I believed that if I learned to love the process, then with time, the product would inevitably find its way into my hands. And with this mindset, I headed out into nature each day without expectations of anything but enjoying my time outdoors.

Even though the forest was sunny, it was cold. When I arrived back at the house, I was ready for a hot shower. After, I dove into my work, energized from my time in the woods. My work day was busy; stressful. This was not uncommon in my line of work, and by the end of the day, I was ready to let go of the job and head back out into nature.

I walked my normal path along the trails, and when I arrived at the creek area, I stopped and took a picture facing west. The sun had lowered toward the horizon, but its light was still blinding. As I steadied my camera, dropping the exposure to control the intense light, I heard a deer bark straight in front of me. Unable to see in the bright light, I raised my opened hand to my brow, and shielded my eyes from the sun. In front of me, standing in the middle of the marsh, a large doe stared back. The doe had one of her front legs raised, stomping, warning me not to approach. As she held my gaze, several deer popped up from the tall grasses and ran north. Once the herd had disappeared into the tree line, the doe disengaged and ran off.

I headed back home in time to get ready for the evening. My wife finished her eighth rotation today, and I wanted to take her to dinner to celebrate. We went to eat at the Cracker Barrel, where I was eager to try their dinner menu. However, I ended up eating breakfast for dinner with no regrets. On the way home, we saw a herd of deer near a neighbor’s barn, just southeast of our property. And as we pulled into our drive, we noticed another herd of deer bedded in the pasture. We were all ready for a good night’s sleep.