May 23, 2024

Last Day Alone

This morning, when I took the dogs out, I stood outside for a while, facing east, to watch the sunrise. The light was soft and golden as it cut through the grove, backlighting the dark trunks of the tall pines. A few minutes after the sun rose, the dogs started barking, and when I looked up front, I saw a familiar herd of deer feeding in the pasture. 

I had not seen this herd of six deer in a few weeks, so I was happy to know they were doing well. I watched them eat, admiring their new spring coats that were a bright reddish color. The bushy gray winter coats were officially out of style. After twenty minutes, the herd melted into the western tree line.

I talked to my wife on my tablet while drinking down a cup of coffee in the living room with Kilo and Bodhi. After we hung up, I sat down to write before heading out on my morning walk into the woods.

It was another nice sunny day, and all the trails were finally dry. The mud had disappeared, and dead pine needles and dried leaves covered the trails from the blowing wind. I made a mental note that this weekend, I would need to clear the debris off of the trails.

Thinking about clearing the trails reminded me of a Zen story about a tea master and his apprentice. The master sent the apprentice to clean the front of the teahouse, so the student swept all the fallen leaves off of the entrance and path. When the master inspected the work, he noted that the extreme cleanliness looked unnatural, so he gathered a few leaves and scattered them back in the area. It was a lesson in keeping nature more natural and less constricted by human ideas. I laughed. The trails didn’t look so bad after all.

When I moved from the grove to the woodland, I smelled an animal in the area. The odor was slightly musky, like a wet dog. I stopped to inspect my surroundings, but saw nothing. Yesterday, there were deer in the area. I knew, however, the smell was not coming from a bedded fawn. To prevent predators from detecting them when they bedded down alone, baby deer were born odorless.

The creek area was usually ripe with things to photograph, so I approached the area quietly, taking advantage of an airplane flying above. The small plane’s engine and propellers helped mask my noise. When I was about forty yards from the creek, the large blue heron I’ve been trying to shoot for two years flew off, beating its wings loudly. Would I ever get a shot of this bird? I froze, waiting to see if it would circle back. 

As I stood there frozen, standing behind the trunk of a large tulip tree, a red-tailed hawk landed in front of me, about twenty yards away. It perched on a stump, right behind a line of reeds that were growing out of the creek. I picked up my camera and turned the manual focus ring on my lens to focus past the reeds and on the hawk. Once I got the raptor in focus, I hit the shutter button, and when I did, the autofocus took over and focused back onto the reeds before taking the picture. 

The hawk took flight and was gone. I forgot I had reengaged the autofocus onto the shutter button while I was testing out a new feature on my camera. This morning, the settings change cost me a great shot of a hawk. Welcome to the fascinating world of operator error, I thought to myself.

I headed through the trails, back toward the house. A year ago, a mistake like this would have felt more painful than it did today. These days, I felt more clear about what successful wildlife photography required. This included a healthy dose of patience and the willingness to go out time and time again. For every great photo I’d captured, there were probably three hundred photos that were useless, and only one in a thousand photos was truly spectacular.

During my lunch break, I drove to a feed store in Wilson to grab some more deer corn. They were out of the product I usually bought, so I grabbed a hundred pounds of dried corn made for sheep and cattle. I also grabbed a bag of bird food and a suet block, both containing mealworms. 

Once work was over, I cleaned the backyard and then pulled the riding mower out of the barn. After, I mowed the backyard, side of the house, and about a third of the pasture that was getting overgrown. Before it got dark, I put the mower away and went out into the forest again for a walk at last light.

When I walked through the forest, I noticed the ground was completely dry. For the first time in several days, the leaves and twigs made crunching sounds under each footstep. About thirty minutes before my walk, when I was mowing the yard, the wind had picked up, stirring the trees, blowing dried pine needles all over the yard. There was now more debris on the trails in the forest, too.

I made my way through the woods, enjoying the quiet time, but saw no wildlife. In the distance, I could hear farm equipment and a riding mower. I wondered if this was the same sound my neighbors heard while I was mowing. I ended my walk a little early because I wanted to spend some time outside with the dogs before it got dark. It was an excellent opportunity to get the dogs outside to run before bedtime.

When I exited the grove, there was a herd of deer feeding in the pasture. I photographed one doe who was standing near the opposite tree line. To her left, about four feet away, were two small rabbits playing with each other. The deer seemed oblivious to the two rambunctious cottontails who were jumping about and causing a ruckus.

It was always interesting to see how several species of animals coexisted. I had regularly seen deer hanging out with the raccoons and opossums at night. I wondered if the deer would ever grow to trust me. It was probably better that they didn’t trust humans. I knew I sure didn’t.

I played with the dogs before grilling us all food for dinner. After a shower, I crawled into bed for the last time before my wife would be home for good. It was my last night to sleep alone.