March 25, 2024

The Bone Collector

I woke up at 4:15, feeling rested and back on my normal schedule. Last week was hectic at work, and I was ready for a slower day. The dogs were ready to go outside, and I stepped out with them. It was cold and dark, but the moon was full and bright. Its light cast a reddish corona on the thin clouds that floated through the night. The brightness of a full moon was always surprising. I breathed in the frigid air and it burned my lungs. It was 35 degrees on this crisp spring morning.

Work was busy, but productive. I didn’t get outside much during the morning, but I knew clearing my task list today would ease up the rest of my week. It was a conscious decision, and I felt good about it.

For lunch, I made ramen with leftover beef short ribs we barbecued a few days ago. I relished the warm food and saved the small round bones for the dogs’ dinner, placing them on a napkin on the counter. One of my dogs, Bodhi, was prone to stealing food off the counter, so I pushed the bones all the way to the back, behind a mixer. My wife and I always kidded that he had an extendable paw that allowed him to reach the unreachable.

After lunch, I went back to my office to work. Within minutes, I heard a noise in the kitchen followed by loud cracking sounds. Bodhi! I ran to the kitchen and the big white dog was standing stupidly on his hind legs with his front paws on the countertop. When he saw me, he knew he was in trouble and immediately made his way to his dog bed. I raised my voice, and he closed his eyes, turned his head away, and shook like a POW who had been electrocuted and waterboarded. He was so dramatic that I started laughing. I gave him a hug, called him a knucklehead, put the bones away, and got back to work. Sixty seconds later, and I heard bones cracking again. Bodhi! 

Apparently, when I caught him the first time, during his lecture, and his physical display of extreme regret, he had been hiding a bone in his mouth the entire time. Sneaky bastard. The other three dogs looked at me in disbelief, as if to ask, “so that’s how things work around here? The bad dog gets the bone?” Welcome to life, kids.

By work’s end, I was ready to get out into the woods. When I walked into the pine grove, there was still plenty of of light but it felt cold. The sun had begun its descent toward the horizon and the air was clear and the forest quiet. It was good to be home. As I walked along the trail, I decided I would make a fire this evening and sit out on the deck and relax.

Minutes into my walk, I felt re-energized from the busy workday. Over the past two years, the forest had become a place of both the contemplation of deep thoughts and the letting go of them all. Seeing all the green life growing in front of me, the cool breeze blowing in my face, the smell of pine needles and blossoms; these things all brought me back to a natural state. 

When I arrived at Beaver Tooth Rock, I sat down. This boulder, the size of an RV, had become my meditation cushion. I looked out over the ravine and noticed that half of the trees already had small green leaves, while the rest were full of buds. I peered over the rock’s edge and saw two large boot prints in the mud, made when my adventurous wife led us through the creek.

While sitting, I remembered a dream I had the night before. My wife and I were here, and we saw three red foxes playing. While the visual memory of the dream seemed faded and vague, the emotional experience that the dream had happened felt very real. Distant gunshots snapped me out of my thinking. In the country, you hear people shooting all the time.

I packed my things and made my way west along the creek. A large hawk was circling overhead, above the forest canopy, crying out repeatedly. When I arrived at a bend in the creek, I heard what sounded like wings flapping. The noise was loud, and I wondered if the mallard ducks were back. Maybe I spooked them.

As I worked to see down the stream through the brush, an enormous pileated woodpecker flew by and landed on the side of a tall dead tree that stood bare in the creek bed to the west. The bird, with its bright red crest, landed on the side of of the tree, and started pecking away. It was an extraordinary scene. The tree was interesting enough to be its own subject, but with the bird on its side, backlit by the setting sun, and the light shining through the woodpecker’s red crest, well, it was the perfect picture, just waiting to be captured. Of course, today, I didn’t have my professional camera with me, so that was that. At first, I could have kicked myself, but I was genuinely happy to witness the event. It would have been a killer shot, though.

While at the creek, my watched buzzed. The camera on my front door had sent me a photograph of a stunning lady getting out of her car. I texted I was on my way. I hurried down the trails and through the forest to greet my wife. After, I got busy cutting firewood and starting up the pit. When I looked up, my wife was coming out the back door with her arm extended. At the end of her small hand, there was a frosted mason jar filled with cold beer. It looked refreshing as I was hot from cutting wood. I raised the frosted mug and chugged down a large gulp. Nodogoshi. That was the Japanese word used to describe that burning sensation you get in your throat upon a first sip of ice cold beer. I set the glass down on the deck’s railing and added more wood to the fire, the back of my neck still slick with sweat. It was the perfect ending to a good day.