April 6, 2024

Leisure’s End

Saturday mornings. Was there ever a better day? While Friday nights brought the excitement of the upcoming weekend, we usually felt tired from the week. After a good night’s sleep, however, we were ready to enjoy the weekend more fully. We woke up a little before seven, finding a beautiful morning already immersed in the sun’s light. After drinking down a hot coffee, my wife and I got dressed and went into town to get our errands done early.

We made our first stop at Lowe’s in Wilson, where we bought two rakes with short, stiff teeth. We planned to use them to clear the trails on the property. You know you have some hard work to do when you buy two identical tools. This was definitely going to be a two-person job. I picked up some new work gloves after wearing holes in my last pair. We looked at the outdoor furniture and found a nice table with chairs and ordered it online. We were serious about getting ready for spring time outdoors.

After, we made a stop at Target, where we picked up water, water buffalo horns for the dogs to chew on, and two outdoor rocking chairs that, although inexpensive, were remarkably comfortable. The shopping made us hungry, so we made a quick stop at Cracker Barrel, where I ordered my regular sausage breakfast, whose name I refuse to say. My wife ordered the Grandma’s Sampler, too.

After breakfast, we stopped by Lidl for groceries and then headed home, happy the weekend’s errands were out of the way. My wife and I were looking forward to spending time together, and we arrived home in good spirits. We had full bellies, and the property was looking amazing in its new spring wardrobe. We handed out the water buffalo horns to the dogs, and they got mixed reviews. 

A little later, we moved outside to the picnic table in the pasture where my wife studied as I wrote. We took occasional breaks, listening to the birds, trying to identify them by their songs. One seasonal bird eluded us, even though we have researched its song without success. The song was a funny Scandinavian-like sound, so we named the bird Sven. We’ll identify it one day.

We walked back to the house to take a break, sitting outside on the back porch in our new rocking chairs. The weather was perfect, and it felt good to sit down and take in nature’s beauty. When we first moved here, we put a lot of effort into cleaning up the backyard, as it was filled with junk. Today, however, the view couldn’t have been more different. I always thanked my wife for helping bring everything together to make our home so nice and comfortable. After our break, my wife did another study session, this time inside the house on the dining room table. When she finished, my wife slipped on her gloves and work boots, grabbed one of the new rakes, and headed into the pine grove. I followed suit, arriving about a half hour later.

We used the sturdy, short-toothed rakes to clear the trail. It had probably been a few decades since anyone raked the trail clean of pine needles in the grove. In some places, the needles were six inches deep. The work was hard, but rewarding. After about an hour and a half, we had cleared the trail head that started at our house all the way to the crop field. We also cleared a piece of the trail that went north into the old woodland. The work transformed the place, and the results pleased us.

Exhausted but in good spirits, we made our way back to the house and grabbed a single can of beer, splitting it, celebrating our victory over the forest floor. There were still a lot of trails to be cleared, but today’s work proved to move faster than expected. My wife started a fire in Solo Stove while I cut wood. Today’s work was done, and it was time to relax. We sat outside talking about life and my wife’s approaching graduation, which was about four months away. She had already scheduled her post school national PA exam and this weekend; she decided on invites, ceremony tickets, and the likes. We also brainstormed a party at the house and planned to invite several of the neighbors. It was the southern thing to do.

Before the night was through, my wife and I shared a second beer and grabbed some chips and smoked salsa. I crushed two avocados, adding in some salsa to make some guacamole. That ended up being our dinner. The temperature dropped and my wife went inside to take a hot bath while I stayed outside in front of the fire. I threw on a few more pieces of wood while I got lost in the comforting feeling of staring into the flames. This fire pit had kept me company during the month my wife was gone, and tonight, it brought back those warm, familiar feelings.

Dusk had set in, and the birdcalls had settled. The fire’s flames, burning bright orange and blue, made the new wood pop, shooting embers into the sky. An occasional breeze blew, swirling up white ash from the pit, making it look like a large snow globe. Although I wanted to stay out longer, it was time to go inside the house. I grabbed the large metal fire poker, breaking the logs and coals into small pieces so the fire would dissipate more quickly. This act seemed significant to me.

I loved sitting out in front of the pit, looking up at the stars. Honestly, I could stay there all night, but there was a time when we had to cut off the things we liked to do, when leisure turned into a lack of discipline. Using the poker to kill the fire felt like I was playing an active role in ending what I wanted to last. The decision and act of ending the fire was a way of exercising fortitude and staying sober to the passing of time. Instead of staying out longer or walking into the house, looking out the window regrettably at the burning fire, I made the situation a non-issue, a type of burning my ships. With the fire, this had become my practice, but this concept was at the front of my mind when dealing with other pleasurable things in life. This was a practice of being resolute.

April 5, 2024

The Reunion

It was Friday, and I was ready for an easy work day before starting a weekend. The weather, although a little chillier than expected, was beautiful, and I wanted nothing more than to spend time outdoors. After morning coffee together, my wife and I sat down to work on an important email that reported the inappropriate behavior of a coworker. It was a fact of life that many people sucked, and some crossed boundaries that were unacceptable and inexcusable. Ain’t nobody got time for that.

After my wife left for work, I grabbed my things and headed into the woods. The bright, cloudless morning forecasted a beautiful day ahead. While the morning felt cold, the weather was supposed to warm up by midday, and I looked forward to getting a little sun in my eyes. Lately, I had seen several deer in the ravine that housed the creek, so I eagerly made my way north down the trails. When I passed by the salt lick in the pine grove, I saw two teeth marks cut into the hard block, probably from a deer.

Last year, on the northwest corner of the property, a small tree bloomed with bright pink flowers. There were no other trees like this on the property, so this year, we were waiting for the tree to bloom once again. There were several hundred trees in that area, and we didn’t know which tree flowered, so we eagerly awaited its blossoms. Yesterday evening, there were no noticeable changes to that part of the forest, but this morning, there was a surprise waiting. In the area just west of some large rocks, bright pink flowers covered the small tree, revealing its position. I wanted to move closer to inspect it, but I waited for my wife to get home. She had been waiting to see it, and I didn’t want to spoil the fun. I took a few pictures from a distance and then picked up speed, moving eastward through the woods.

When I arrived near the creek, I was happy to be outdoors, seeing and hearing all the sights and sounds the forest offered. In the brushy areas near the water I heard wrens, in the trees above, cardinals and finches. A large flock of geese flew overhead, moving southwest, probably headed for Buckhorn Reservoir. The creek gurgled and spat while a downy woodpecker thumped on a tree above me. A small eastern gray squirrel scurried down a tree, ran toward the creek, and cleared it in a single leap. It was interesting to see how fast the forest was responding to spring. Daily, the trails were diminishing in width while the visibility was dropping quickly. Everything in every direction was some shade of green. I looked out over a section of the creek where my wife and I recently saw four otters swimming. That happened a week ago, and already the vegetation was so overgrown that it completely covered the part of the creek where we spotted the small animals. They could have been there today, and I would have never known. The forest was not shrinking, but its empty spaces were.

My wife called me when she was getting off work. Because it was around lunchtime, I tried calling Pino’s Pizza to pick up some food, but they didn’t answer the phone. After repeated attempts, I remembered reading a recent article in the Wilson Times. The local newspaper highlighted a newly opened New York pizzeria called Armando’s. I looked them up on the internet and made a quick online order. I arrived home with the food about fifteen minutes after my wife with a nice hot pepperoni pizza with mushrooms, a Caesar salad, and a piece of chocolate cake for my wife. Lunch was a hit.

After eating, we walked into the forest near the small tree with pink blossoms. I told my wife it had bloomed, but I wanted her to discover it without me pointing it out. When she saw the bright pink flowers, she gasped. We walked to the tree and saw it was being weighed down by the broken branches of a nearby pine. Wild grapevines had grown over the small tree and were smothering it. We removed the dead branches and my wife bent the vines back and forth until they broke. After, we removed them and left the tree free to grow. My wife noticed the flowers were actually a part of two trees that had grown close to each other. The pink flowers were large and fragrant. They had long stigmas that shot out in every direction. These were the only two trees of this type on the property. We guessed a bird must have pooped seeds in the forest, unknowingly planting them. Nature knew just what she was doing, creating trees to house bird nests and hatching birds to plant more trees.

After work, I went into the woods alone for one last walk before the sun fell out of the sky. In the distance, I heard the hum of farm equipment. The local farmers had tilled most of the fields, but a few tracts of land still needed to be prepared. The evening forest was chilly and quiet, leaving me in a somber mood. Cold gusts of wind made the new leaves on the trees shimmer while the air whistled through their thin branches. Before me, a golden light bathed the tips of the tallest trees, signifying the sun had almost reached the western horizon. The clouded sky diffused the setting sun’s light into muted pastels of orange and magenta. I took one last look at the small tree with its fresh pink blossoms and bid it farewell. It was good to run into you again, my little friend.

April 4, 2024

Wisteria

Last night, during dinner at Cracker Barrel, I drank a couple of coffees with my dinner. The caffeine had me stirring at night, and woke up a little before four o’clock, feeling both tired and wide awake. I slithered out of bed a few minutes later, letting my wife know I would be back to wake her up at five.

I wrote for an hour before waking my wife. We drank a cup of coffee, trying to rouse our energy, before heading into the dining room to study and write. My wife left for work at her current rotation in Rocky Mount about an hour and a half later. I spent the rest of the morning out in the woods.

The bright sun peeking just above the eastern tree line offset the bitter mood of the frosty temperatures. The sun was still close to the horizon and cast long shadows of pine trunks through the grove at acute angles. I made my way down the trails, noticing that although the ground was dry, it was still soft from yesterday’s rainfall.

I glanced at the salt lick, seeing it was being worn away slowly by deer who frequented the grove. I stopped to study two patches of thick deer hair clumped on the ground. The hair was coarse, probably tufts of winter coat a deer pulled from its hindquarters with its dull teeth. I snapped a photograph and continued north down the trail.

As I walked past the area that transitioned from the pine grove to the woodland, a tiny frog jumped in front of me and then into some foliage at the base of a tree. I stopped to see if I could photograph it. It was the first time I had seen the Green Frog species. Most of the frog, which measured about two inches, looked frog-like, with its dark brownish-green skin. The tiny creature, however, had a bright green mark down its back that looked almost fluorescent, the same color as the nearby leaves on a rainy day. Evolution always amazed me. Its precision and function made nature even more beautiful to my eyes. Behold wisdom without intellect, based only on the natural order of things that embraced both conflict and harmony as a tool for design.

I continued down the trail, stopping occasionally to study the fresh growth around the trail. The winter air still lingered, burning my nostrils as I took in the fragrant scent of flowers. This morning, the forest air smelled sweet, reminding me of the straw tatami mats placed inside the traditional rooms of Japanese houses. The sudden memory of Japan brought with it the deep calm that came with slipping out of busy Tokyo into Yoyogi Park on the way to Meiji Shrine. Although the city’s population crammed humans into nearby subways like sardines, the nearby garden somehow retained a feeling of remoteness. Walking under the large wooden torii gates into the shrine grounds always brought an instant sense of calm. I now recognized the woods here in North Carolina felt the same. This forest was sacred ground.

When I arrived back at the house, I my mind felt clear and body, energized. I was ready to warm up in a hot shower and get my work day started. During my lunch break, I drove into Wilson to pick up some Bojangles chicken selects. My gas tank was completely full as this was the first time I left the house in my SUV since buying gasoline last week. 

Bojangles was a popular fast-food restaurant in North Carolina. I never knew it existed until my wife and I were taking a business trip to Philadelphia. On the way there, we had a layover at the Charlotte airport, and even though we had little time between flights, my wife sprinted to the food court to pick some up. When she left, they were already boarding the plane, and I was sure we would miss our flight. At the last second, right before the boarding closed, my wife came running with her box of Bojangles, making it just in time. We laughed, although I knew her well enough to not step between her and a meal when she was hungry. That’s how people got shanked. The glorious smell of fried chicken tenders filled the air cabin for the rest of the flight. Today, while scarfing down the juicy chicken, trying not to burn my mouth, I laughed at the memory. I got it. This stuff was better than the fast-food in Texas.

The drive to and from Wilson was spectacular. This time of year, wisteria grew along the tree lines, with bright purple flowers hanging everywhere. Along the main road, there were few spots along the drive that were not decorated in the beautiful blossoms, most of it climbing up the nearby trees up to forty and fifty feet high. Because purple was a relatively rare color to see in nature, it seemed to grab my attention, making the drive to and from Wilson very pleasant this time of year.

After work, my wife and I walked into the woods for last light. The air was chilly, but the sun was out, making for a bright sky. Somehow, a sun-filled sky made the temperatures more bearable, while the same temperature on a clouded day felt harsh. We made our way to the creek, enjoying the pretty blue skies interlaced with puffy white cumulus clouds. The week had been so busy that Thursday had snuck up on us, and tomorrow, the last day of the work weed was finally here. We made our way back up, enthusiastic the weekend was near. Once back at the house, we made fish tacos, sat down, and had a delightful meal together. This week was especially challenging, but we just had to make it through one more day before we could close our computers and take in the spring weather.

April 3, 2024

Old And Hungry

I woke up to a beautiful spring morning. The red maple tree in the backyard was full of bright red leaves while the mimosa’s small buds had stretched to three-inch stems in a matter of days. The wind blew softly with warm air, moving the chimes just enough to sound out, their mellow tones echoing through the yard. I looked up at the dark sky but saw no stars. It was cloudy, and the forecast called for rain in the morning and high winds in the afternoon.

After the dogs were done with their outside business, we came inside the house. I felt focused and ready for the day, but first coffee with my wife on the couch. We sipped the frothy foam off the top of our cups, looking out the window. It was drizzling. This morning, I skipped my writing session to help my wife prepare an email that needed to be wordsmithed. We worked on it together, both making edits before she fired it off.

After my wife left, I took a walk into the woods without my camera because of the rain. It felt odd not having the tool in my hand, reminding me of when I stopped working as a tactical operator for a state police agency. The day I stopped carrying my rifle, pistol, and back up pistol made me feel like I was naked. The notion that having a camera in my hands replaced the gun I carried crossed my mind several times over the years. A quality firearm and camera shared many characteristics. They were both black and weighty. Both felt like a marvel of modern engineering. Having the weight in my hand or strapped around me just felt natural. Oh, and although I thought my custom assault rifle was expensive, I had to bashfully admit that photography made firearms seem cheap. Yikes.

Once I arrived at the pine grove, it started raining harder. The tall grid of trees always looked more beautiful after the rain soaked them. I knew I mentioned this every journal entry it rained, but the contrast between a wet and dry forest was remarkable. From the darker colors of tree bark, to their more prominent patterns, to the greens brightened to where they looked like they were glowing, a well-watered forest looked ethereal, and evoked different emotions that merited noting down. These days, when I saw it was raining outside, I couldn’t wait to get into the woods to see what it looked like. A swollen creek, with its rushing streams and spouts, was the icing on the cake.

I walked the trails to Beaver Tooth Rock, and then alongside the creek to a trail that leads back to the grove. When I approached the grove, I spotted a herd of deer I had not previously seen on the northeast corner of the property. When they caught my scent, a doe barked, and they sprinted across the empty field, disappearing into the opposite tree line. I waited for a few minutes to see if they would circle back, but they did not. Deer have a peculiar way of running, looking like they are jumping up in the air, only with a stride that covers more distance than expected. While a deer standing or feeding looked docile or prey-like, a running deer, to me, exuded power and grace. They might run away from a predator, but they ran aggressively.

When I arrived home, I jumped into the shower and got ready for work. As I sat at my desk reading through work reports, the sky turned dark and the wind whistled through the house. I enjoyed hearing the wind this way. It always felt mysterious, moody, and a little spooky. The noise had probably become a deeply ingrained warning to humans that they needed to stay sheltered and pay attention to the weather. A few hours later, the rain poured down in a wild torrent, while the wind blew it nearly sideways. I continued reading, peeking out the window periodically.

My wife arrived home about the time I was finishing work. We had plans to eat dinner at Cracker Barrel, and honestly, I had looked forward to it all day. Brinner was something we both enjoyed, and this evening I was going to pressure the server into letting me substitute the bacon and ham for two extra pieces of sausage on my Grandma’s Sampler. Wow. So much to unpack here. First, why they titled a meal with two eggs, a piece of ham, bacon, sausage patty, hash browns, pancakes, and biscuits, the Grandma’s Sampler was inconceivable to me and a little demeaning to said grandmother. Whose grandmother was this? And why was she so damned hungry? And why was I forced to order a lady’s meal? Should I have gone to the restaurant with my hair in pigtails and curtsied after ordering? My hair was not long enough and my hips were not wide enough. Let’s all agree not to genderize our meals. Tenderize, Don’t Genderize came to mind for my campaign slogan. My wife gave me her sausage, too. It was one of the best nights of my life.

We arrived home, me still raving about the sausage, threw the leftovers into the fridge because Bodhi, slipped on our boots, and headed into the woods, trying to beat the sun to the horizon. It was never too late, in my book, to head out into nature. 

That sausage, though.

April 2, 2024

Hard Times

The night passed quickly and before I knew it; I was sipping coffee on the couch with my wife. My morning was busy with chores while she prepared for work. When she was ready to leave, I walked her out the door, kissed her goodbye, and watched her walk down the front porch stairs to her car. She looked beautiful this morning.

After she left, I grabbed my camera, slipped on my boots, and headed out for a morning walk in the forest. The air was temperate, and the skies were neither dark nor bright. The woods felt quiet this morning, but once I neared the creek, I heard several songbirds greeting the start of the new day. To my surprise, I heard several frogs singing, their long trills dominating the soundscape. It was light out and I did not expect to hear them. 

I took a seat on Beaver Tooth Rock, allowing myself to settle in to the rhythm of the forest. Two red cardinals flew by in a skirmish, their wings beating loudly as they zoomed by. Up in a tree, an eastern gray squirrel chattered, its boisterous noises falling short of the melodic birdsongs all around. An occasional breeze came and went, its air feeling cooler than the warm spring air.

I continued down the trails, taking in all the surrounding change. The trail looked thinner and more defined, as trees, plants, and grasses sprung up all around. Most of the trees were developing tiny leaves that looked like miniature toys. They were small, but already held the distinct shapes, only small enough to sit on my fingernail. The tiny maple and oak leaves were my favorite, and I stopped to take several photographs.

The morning walks through the forest were by now a habit, if not a ritual. Each morning, when I walked into the forest, my mind was full of thoughts about what I had to do that day. There were thoughts about my morning writing session, my mind still churning. And then there was my upcoming work that preoccupied me with emails, tasks, and deadlines. By the time I walked out of the forest, however, all those thoughts were gone. And the person who entered the woods who was busy and hurried left feeling calm. I left the woods each day feeling steady, synchronized with nature’s timing. Like a tsunami wave, moving in slow motion, nature never hurried, but its force was unstoppable.

In the afternoon, an extermination company, Rid-A-Pest, serviced our home. Of course, that meant the dogs were going berserk, and as Murphy’s Law would have it, I received several important phone calls while I unsuccessfully tried to shush the dogs. They finally settled, and I got my work done. My day was busy, but other than the few hectic phone calls, I had time to sit down and concentrate on the tasks I wanted to complete. When six o’clock rolled around, I was ready to vacate my office and get back out into nature. I texted my wife that I was heading out for a walk, but after I saw she was just fifteen minutes away, I waited for her to get home, in case she wanted to walk with me.

After my wife changed clothes, we headed down the forest trails toward the creek and then over to Beaver Tooth Rock. As we approached the area, we went quiet, walking as quietly as possible. At the base of the rock, we stood up on our tippy toes, peeking over the rock into the ravine. There, a lone deer stood feeding. We studied her briefly before climbing up the rock. As we walked up the incline, the doe spotted us and ran west, disappearing into the thick, high brush. We set up our chairs and noticed a herd hidden in the trees just below us. Aware of our presence, they all moved quietly, but with urgency, like they suddenly remembered they had somewhere else to be.

My wife and I talked about our work days and how life was going. Then we sat quietly, looking out over the creek, while I wondered how I got so lucky to find such a perfect partner. My path to her was a winding road full of detours and delays. I always marveled at how much heartbreak I could have avoided if I only knew where I was going to end up. Such is life, I suppose. Sometimes we seemed to only see what was right in front of us, while other times, we missed what was right under our nose. Why did we always look in the wrong place?

Dusk was setting in, so we made our way back to the main trail, walking along the creek. To the west, we saw another herd of deer run off as we turned south, making our way back home. I showered after dinner, thinking about the day. I wondered how I could improve my ability to see what was important, to know which parts of the present were precious, while understanding the inevitability of change. It was a mystery whether humans could, or should, be overly positive. Sadness and pain played an important role in happiness. Like the sun coming out after a dark storm, positivity was best enjoyed after a plate of hard times.

April 1, 2024

Forest Goblins

Today would be my last journal entry. April Fools, as they say. I never understood this holiday, but since my brother was born on this day, it was always a good go to slam while we were growing up. I was born on Mother’s Day, a much more respectable and responsible way to enter the world than sneaking in as a fool.

After drinking a cup of coffee together on the couch, my wife and I moved to the dining room table where she studied and I wrote. After our session was done, we slipped on our boots and headed out the front door. On the opposite side of the house, there stood a herd of six deer. I called them the Ridiculous Six, after an awful western movie by the same name. While several herds moved through the property, these six deer, four does and two yearlings, lived near the house. They scurried off into the opposite tree line while we headed into the grove.

Earlier in the morning, I had watched the herd as they stood in the pasture. Several of the does were pregnant and would give birth in another month. One doe was holding her tail up in the air as she preened the bright white fur. I usually saw this white flag raised as deer ran off from danger. This morning, however, the doe was flashing it in a clear wardrobe malfunction.

In the grove, the eastern sky was lit up in a bright orangish-pink color, looking like a smoldering wildfire. The air felt balmy, but once we entered the forest, the temperature dropped, making it feel cold. I smelled smoke in the air, probably from a neighboring chimney or burn pile. We walked a short loop in the woods before my wife headed off to work. I kissed her goodbye on the front porch like the good stay-at-home parent I was and sent her on her way. This morning, she looked especially delectable. I would miss her.

After my wife’s car disappeared down the dirt road, I walked back into the woods. The grove was getting bright, but the forest was still dark and shaded. As I neared the creek, I heard a couple of frogs singing out. I admired the large rocks on the property as I walked by, remembering the first time I discovered them while exploring the woods when I moved here. I had walked into the forest looking for a few small rocks to build a fire pit when I found a rock the size of a large sofa. It was an incredible find, and I was excited. Little did I know that ten minutes later, I would discover a round rock in the forest bigger than a truck and over ten feet tall. I wondered about the large boulder’s story, how it ended up in the middle of a forest, and who had touched it throughout history. Had a dinosaur rubbed against it, or an indigenous tribe camped near it, or had a Civil War soldier admired it while walking through the woods? I found the large rock intriguing.

When I arrived near Beaver Tooth Rock, I heard a deer bark and twigs snapping in the distance. I was walking stealthily, but they probably caught my scent in the wind. I never even saw them. When the forest went quiet, I could hear the hum of distant farm equipment preparing the fields for planting. After some time in nature alone, I made my way back to the house, where I pulled out the riding mower and cut a large patch of grass that was growing long in the pasture. After, I dusted off, went inside the house, and jumped into the shower so I could start work.

The work day was busy and before I knew it, it was time to turn off the computer. My wife arrived home, and we headed into the forest to sit down together at Beaver Tooth Rock. We approached the area quietly, climbing onto the large boulder to see what nature would present. In the ravine below us, a herd of deer hid in the tall grasses. Three deer moved quickly west, while two remained behind the brush as we sat quietly and watched. One of the two deer hidden in the brush walked slowly into an open area and the second deer flushed, catching up to its herd in long jumping strides. After they left, we began talking.

The forest was silent today. Apart from one noisy neighbor, an eastern gray squirrel in a tree to our right, the area was mostly quiet. A distant neighbor’s hounds had been loud over the past few nights, but this evening I did not hear the dogs' cries. We debriefed our day, spending a few minutes venting about the negatives and then promising to keep the talk positive from there. I showed my wife some pictures I edited, and she talked to me about her experiences at work. I noted the large rock in front of us had plants growing on top that started reaching up toward the sky, looking like the thin hairs sticking up on a baby orangutang’s head. 

This rock was larger than a full-sized van and one end was cleanly split with a large straight cut that looked like a Jedi knight took to it with a lightsaber. I named this rock Tengu, after the mythical Japanese forest goblins that were said to have taught the samurai how to sword fight. Tradition told us the tengu were the protective, yet dangerous, spirits of the mountains and forests. In Japan, there was a famous rock that looked exactly the same. Legend had it that a famous Yagyu samurai cut the rock with his sword while cutting down a tengu with a single, powerful stroke. The famous rock was seven thousand miles from here, but I had one of my own.

We hiked back to the house and ate dinner together, happy to reconnect after a long day’s work. After a hot shower, I crawled into bed, wondering if I would battle a goblin in my dreams. Then I laughed, thinking the animals probably considered me to be the goblin of our mysterious forest.

March 31, 2024

Flip Flops

It was Easter Sunday, and we slept in, waking around 6:30 AM. The morning started with coffee, followed by fruit smoothies for breakfast. After, we got busy with several chores, which included putting away dishes, washing laundry, and food prep. My wife prepared vegetables to throw onto the smoker. There were several tomatoes, onions, and Serrano peppers. Then she prepped a spinach and artichoke dip we would eat for lunch.

Once chores were done, we both moved outside to the picnic table in the pasture and sat down, my wife to study and me to write. We toted an entire pot of coffee and some half and half, giving us an unlimited supply of caffeinated fun. The only downside was that the trek back to the house was not short, so a trip to the bathroom took a few minutes, but provided a pleasant break.

The weather outside was beautiful and the ambient sounds of birds singing and wind blowing, coupled with the open space of the outdoors, made for the perfect writing environment. We worked for two hours before we headed into the house, ready for some food. The weather warmed as the morning progressed, so I pulled my flip-flops out of storage and put them on for the first time this year. There were very few shoes as comfortable as the trusty flip flop. They weren’t good for hiking and wouldn’t stop a snake bite, but that walk to and from the pasture, with the sun grinning down on my toes, was glorious. Long live comfort, even if impractical.

The spinach and artichoke dip was delicious as we scooped it out on toasted slices of baguette bread. My wife also prepared a side salad that tasted even better on a warm day, as it provided the hydration, saltiness, and coolness my body craved. After we ate, my wife worked on clipping dog nails. That chore required her to cut seventy-two dog nails off the impatient beasts without nicking a quick. I turned off the grill, which had smoked this morning’s vegetables for four hours and twenty-four minutes. Then I vacuumed the house while my wife threw the smoked tomatoes, onion, and Serrano peppers into a food processor, adding salt, pepper, and fresh cilantro. Voila; smoked salsa for the week. She set the salsa in a large container on the counter, leaving it open so the gases from the onion could escape.

We went back out to the pasture for another study session. My wife’s schooling required her to work and study for long periods. That meant hours of studying, even on weekends and holidays. I enjoyed working on my hobbies and spending time with her, so working in the pasture at the table next to her was something I relished. It was a pleasant surprise to see the Wi-Fi reached the pasture, and the internet worked perfectly well. After another hour of studies, we went back to the house and got busy with the big chore of the day, dog baths. 

My wife bathed Kilo and took her outside to dry her with a professional dog blow dryer we purchased years ago. I was happy she bathed Kilo, because the girl enjoyed shaking several times during the bath as if to prove her point that if she was getting wet, then everyone else was too. I bathed Axel and passed him to my wife to dry. We ran the assembly line until Koda and Bodhi were done. Koda took a long time to dry, since his coat was long, so I took Bodhi, who had very short hair that dried quickly, to the front yard and let him run around in the sun.

Bodhi was happy to be out front and I was enjoying the weather in shorts and my flip-flops. After ten minutes, Bodhi and I walked back toward the house. The grass was getting long, growing after all the rain and sunshine, and there were small purple flowers scattered throughout the front yard. As I walked through them, something got caught in my left flip-flop. I raised my heel up to see what I stepped on. It was a honeybee, true to its form, working diligently to sting the underside of my middle toe. A sharp pain went through my foot and I limped inside, trying not to break off the stinger left attached to my foot.

When I got inside the house, I asked my wife to remove the stinger, and she laughed while pain shot through my toes. Was this what giving birth was like? Just kidding. My wife removed the stinger and for the next ten minutes, all the toes on my left foot felt like they were on fire. After twenty minutes, the pain subsided, and the stinger left a small, deep bruise on the underside of my toe. Knowing that the stinger ripped out its insides, I genuinely felt bad for the little bee. What a strange mechanism of evolution to provide a defense that killed the organism using it to defend. The fact was that the stinger did not evolve to protect the bee. The little samurai bees sacrificed their lives in the service of protecting their queen. I found this admirable, even though this little bee died in vain.

After the bee incident, we found ourselves back outside in the pasture, my wife studying as I read online articles saved on Instapaper. During a break, we decided we would reschedule the fishing plans. It was late afternoon and instead of rushing to fish and having a hurried evening before bed, we would keep the day moving slow. Besides, the fishing season was just beginning, and we were having a great time at home.

After our study session, we packed our things up and dropped them off at the house. Then, we each grabbed a small folding stool and cold beer before heading off into the forest for Beaver Tooth Rock. When we arrived, the elusive heron was in the area. It took flight before we climbed onto the rock, flying above us and then disappearing to the east. We also saw two deer in the ravine the large boulder overlooked. We climbed up the rock, set up our chairs, and after flipping the tops to open our beers, did our customary cheers, which meant hitting our cans together because we were best brahs, and then kissing because we were fierce lovers. There, we sat sipping cold suds, talking about how great the weekend was, and outlining our goals for the upcoming work week.

During the evening, we continued the fun. My wife scheduled her national PA exam, and I joined the North Carolina Writer’s Network. We couldn’t believe her two-year graduate program would be over in just four months. What a time warp. In the evening, we made a fire and sat outside together under the stars. As I slipped into bed, I felt thankful for having three days off work and wondered what the new week would bring.

March 30, 2024

Looking Through A Straw

The sun was already up when we awoke. It was a rare treat for us to sleep in, but this morning it felt rewarding. My wife ground coffee beans we had imported by my father-in-law from HEB. The food store chain that dominated Texas’ grocery industry produced some of the most delectable coffee beans. I even had them shipped when I lived in the Northwest, the self-proclaimed coffee experts of the U.S. After downing a cup, my wife and I headed into the forest for a morning walk.

The rainy days were behind us, and the forest floor was dry. We hiked straight to Beaver Tooth Rock, where we stopped to take in the forest’s sounds. The birds were always busy on the first sunny day after a storm. This morning, the chatter was loud, and I counted at least a dozen different songbirds, all singing simultaneously. The forest, while relaxing, was noisy this morning. My wife noted that in the northern part of the woods, there were very few pines, and deciduous trees dominated the landscape.  

We spent most of our time sitting at Beaver Tooth Rock overlooking the creek. While we hoped to see the otters or a beaver, being out in nature was rewarding enough. It felt good to be still and take in the experience as it was. There was a type of bias called publication bias, which was the tendency to evaluate the world based on information that was available, never considering all the information we did not see. I felt like solving problems that came up in daily life was a form of this bias. 

Most of life was good, but there were always problems, issues, or challenges. Call them what you will. Because we mainly thought about problems and trying to find their solutions, problems became a focus of life, drowning out all the good things that were in the background. Since our minds could only focus on a few things at once, we spent more time dealing with negativity, cutting out the time we consciously spent dwelling on life’s positive experiences. 

This reminded me of looking through a straw to see the world. Doing so, one could only see a tiny fraction of life at a time. And if I was always knee, waist, or neck deep in thoughts about problems, then I couldn’t see all the good things that were right under my nose. This way of thinking, in my experience, could lead someone with a wonderful life to feel stressed, since they spent a majority of their time dwelling on their few troubles.

I believed it was beneficial to move the straw away from the problems and point it toward the positive things. Sitting at Beaver Tooth Rock or walking around in the forest were opportunities to be aware of all the beauty and ease around us. While most people acknowledged that looking at the world through rose-colored lenses was foolish, many people failed to realize that seeing only the difficult things in life was just as senseless. I wanted to embrace both, but this often meant setting down the problems, or at least limiting the time I spent thinking about them.

The fact was that for us, most of life was pretty perfect and problem free, and the forest gave us the daily opportunity to remember that and hold it close throughout the day. Instead of living from a position of fending off issues, problem-solving was a temporary place our awareness visited to help improve our circumstances. But when it was time to rest, we always returned to a default place of being happy and satisfied with life just how it was now. This was the way of the forest that did not merely survive. It thrived.

After we came home from the woods, my wife pulled out her computer and we looked at dress shirts for my work. She ordered six shirts from a company I liked and then we purchased personalized dog collars for the pups. While they rarely wore collars, we liked them to have one on when we took them into the woods in case they got lost. My wife added a couple of fluorescent dog vests as well. It was best not to run around in the wild looking like a coyote or wolf. After the online shopping, my wife left to buy groceries in Wilson. I stayed home and cleaned my office before sitting down to edit photos. At some point, I got sleepy and lied down on my office floor with my head resting on my meditation cushion. Lights out.

After a quick nap, my wife helped me load a black metal picnic table and benches onto our cart. After, I wheeled them out to the middle of the pasture where twelve pines stood. In the spring and summer, we liked to have a shaded place to sit. We would use this place to work, relax, and sometimes eat. The grass in the pasture was growing tall, so we pulled the riding mower out of its winter home in the shed. I cut the grass in a large section of the pasture, wiped the pine pollen off the table, and set it up in the shade. After, I mowed a lane leading to the house to make the walk to the pasture more enjoyable. Once I was done, my wife took over and mowed the backyard. It looked super nice. Ah, the joys of a freshly cut lawn, not only a pleasure to look at, but a sure sign that I was getting old.

There was something about doing yard work in the spring and summer that made us thirsty for a cold beer. After cutting the grass, we stored the mower in the barn for future use. Then my wife, in her infinite wisdom, suggested we take some chairs and a couple of cold beers out to Beaver Tooth Rock to relax. Seriously, the woman was a goddamned genius. We grabbed our things and hiked out into the woods. I suggested the possibility of changing Beaver Tooth Rock to Beaver Tooth Bar. We thought maybe one day, we’d have this property available as a bed-and-breakfast, and have drinks ready at the large boulder where we sat daily. The outing definitely made me look forward to a great spring at home.

A little later, we worked our way back to the house where we had an amazing dinner of pork tacos made from pork shoulder, fried corn tortillas, fresh avocados, lettuce, cheese, with sriracha and habanero sauces, topped off with freshly squeezed lime juice. They were outstanding. Once the sun neared the horizon, we went outside for the evening, where my wife started a fire in the pit while I split logs into kindling. We listened to some music, talking for a while before my wife grabbed her iPad, and sat fireside studying. I grabbed my laptop and did a little writing. It was another great day in early spring, and we relaxed until nine o’clock and then went inside to shower and get ready for bed. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day. We had plans to bathe the dogs and go fishing. 

March 29, 2024

Stellar Events

It was the beginning of an epic day. We woke up early, happy to have a Friday off from work. The pups seemed excited too, playing, barking, running around the house like mad dogs. While I fed them, my wife made coffee and threw cinnamon rolls into the oven for breakfast. After breakfast, my wife asked if I wanted to go into the woods. Yes, please.

I enjoyed walking through the woods with my wife. When I was alone, the woods seemed like a solo exercise in refocusing or letting go, a type of recovery or preparation for time outside of the forest. But, when I was with my wife, time in the woods always felt like an adventure. The air in the pine grove was frigid, and the rain gave the pine needled floor a sweet smell and deep orange hue. The eastern sky was lighting, throwing elongated shadows across the forest. It was a beautiful morning, and we were ready for the day.

We made our way to Beaver Tooth Rock and stood there overlooking the ravine, admiring the overfilled creek that swelled from the rain. Suddenly, something broke the water’s surface on the eastern side of the creek. It was a river otter. A second little head popped up. There were two. The otters climbed over the bank into the high brush, spooking a large blue heron that was hidden from view. The prehistoric-looking bird beat its large wings, seemingly in slow motion, flying from behind the brush, landing right in front of us. As soon as it landed, the heron spotted us standing on the boulder and took flight again, this time over the trees and out of sight.

We stared intently, hoping the otters would return, and nature did not disappoint. The otters reentered the water and began moving westward at a leisurely pace. My wife and I turned and looked at each other wide-eyed. There were four otters! The animals were large but slender, their wet grayish fur sleek from the water. They seemed playful and energetic, swimming back and forth, diving and resurfacing, stopping occasionally to feed on tasty morsels along the bank. As the otters swam past, we quickly left Beaver Tooth Rock and strode through the forest so we could cut the otters off to the west.

We arrived at a location just fifteen yards from the stream, hoping the four otters would approach. The water was flowing, but no otters appeared. Then the smooth water roiled, like a pot of water coming to a hard boil. The four otters, swimming underwater, surfaced, continuing along the creek. We watched in astonishment as they passed right in front of us before swimming underneath a fallen log and disappearing into an adjacent stream. It was the neatest thing we had seen at the creek, and we walked back to the house excited and enamored with this magical place we called home.

When we arrived home, my wife used my office to study while I wrote at the dining room table. After a few hours, we got hungry, so we changed clothes and drove into Wilson for lunch at La Rancherita, where my wife had a combination platter and I munched on birria tacos. I was so stuffed after lunch that we shopped a little, just so we could walk before heading home. We stopped at Target to pick up a few items and then Marshals for dog toys and treats. After, we stopped at Harris Teeter, where we found three new IPAs. There was Carolina Pine IPA by Gizmo BrewWorks in Raleigh, Lower Falls IPA by Highland Brewing in Asheville, and, my favorite find, Fake News IPA, also by Gizmo BrewWorks. The hilarious writing on the label of the Fake News IPA was worth the price of the beer.

After putting away the groceries, my wife worked on securing furniture and other amenities for her uncle who lived in New York. I felt sleepy after our large lunch, so I grabbed my camera and headed out into the woods. I took my time exploring, making my way back to Beaver Tooth Rock, where I sat taking in the scenery. The wind pushed the clouds through quickly, making the ambient lighting flicker. First the light was soft, then overly bright, and then went dark as dusk for a minute or two. I made my way to the creek and snapped a few photographs, but the wind picked up, which made time in the forest a little unnerving. There was no need to get crushed by a falling pine top.

As I exited the grove, I noticed my sleepiness had subsided, and I felt more energetic. The forest, it seemed, was not just a place of relaxation, but one that promoted alertness. I joined my wife on the back porch where we shared one of the Fake News IPAs. I was glad to discover that it wasn’t just a novelty. The beer was truly delicious, and that wasn’t an alternative fact. After a quick break, my wife picked up on her studies while I went to my office to read. After she was done, we went to a clearing in the forest where we had stacked several dead trees. With us we brought a large, knobby wheeled cart, gloves, and two handsaws. My wife also sported some nerdy safety glasses, which made her look super cute and, well, nerdy. Got to protect those green eyes, though. We worked for about forty minutes, cutting the trees into log sized pieces to be used as firewood. After we had filled the cart to the brim, we gathered our things and made our way up the hill; me pulling and my wife pushing the cart back to the house. It was hard, satisfying work.

After we cleaned up, I started a fire, and we ate bourbon ham sandwiches out on the deck. The sun was going down, and the air was cooling, which made the fire even more gratifying. We sat outside talking about all manner of things, covering past, present, and future, some words more serious while others made us break out in laughter. It was a beautiful night, and we were thankful to have two more days off. The bats fluttered over the backyard, but, to my satisfaction, I saw no mosquitos. A flock of geese passed over, something I found very relaxing, a vivid reminder that I was out in the wild.

In the evening, after the sun had gone down, we heard a few gunshots and fireworks. Neighbors were also playing music outdoors, so we turned down our speaker to listen. Their music was far off in the distance, which made the tunes echo through the forest. It sounded haunting against the crackling wood burning in the fire pit. The stars looked faded, but were brightening slowly as the darkness took over the sky.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a bright flash, but I wasn’t sure what it was. It flashed again, this time about twenty feet closer. It was the first firefly of the season. Fireflies were one of my wife’s favorite things, so I was excited to point it out to her. She gasped as the little lightning bug flew closer toward us, its tail periodically lighting in brilliant neon green. And as if the little bug sensed our welcome, it flew right over us, flashing one last time, and then disappeared into the night. It was so early to see one and we felt lucky that we were there to witness it. The bug’s dim light was so special to us it might as well have been the upcoming solar eclipse. Go find your once in a lifetime wonder. As for us, we had found the marvel of our own tiny light eclipsing the night.

My wife went inside to bathe while I threw a few more pieces of wood on the fire. The stars were bright by now and I studied them. I observed the Big Dipper tucked into the tree line in the northeastern sky while Orion guarded the southwest. There was a dim dot moving fast across the sky, and I wondered if it was a plane flying at high altitude or satellites in orbit. I looked up at Betelgeuse, wondering if it would explode soon, as expected. Just then, a small meteor shot through the sky, moving east to west. It lasted less than a second, but flashed through the black sky, burning white hot and then fading into a greenish hue. I wondered how the day could get any better, but then I realized that after a shower, I’d be crawling into a warm bed right beside my best friend, my own daily, epic, stellar event.

March 28, 2024

Dark Storms

The night passed quickly, but when I awoke, I felt rested and ready to take on the day. After getting out of bed, I peeked between the blinds and saw a small herd of deer bedded down between the house and the barn. Most of the time, I saw deer when they were on the move, so witnessing the herd lying down in the grass felt like a rare treat. The dogs barked at the deer, rousing the animals, prompting the herd to move to the pasture to feed. My wife and I enjoyed a cup of hot coffee on the couch, looking out the window at the pouring rain.

After coffee, my wife moved to her office to register for her summer classes while I hammered away at the keyboard, seated at my desk. When I took a break to warm my wife’s car, a large hawk was flying low, skimming the pasture before heading into the grove. There was always a good chance of seeing the raptors hunting on rainy days. With my wife gone and writing session done, I put on a light rain jacket and headed into the woods for my morning walk.

It was raining hard, but when I stepped into the grove, the canopy of pines blocked most of the water. The frosty air smelled clean, and the water-soaked pine trunks looked black with irregular patches of speckled green and white mosses and fungi that grew on their thick bark. I stopped to take in the sound of geese flying overhead, hearing their faint honks while large raindrops popped against the hood of my rain jacket.

On the eastern side of the pine grove, a cleared lane between the trees towered on both sides of the path. The lane extended for several acres, producing a perfect vista of rows of large trees diminishing into the distance. This morning, I looked down the long lane and there were four deer standing in the row feeding. They gazed at me as I took in the scene.

As I moved north toward the creek, the rain picked up. I was happy to have my Salomon rain jacket. Although very thin, this light packable jacket was completely waterproof and breathed well, making the high price tag worth it. The jacket, a good hat, and my waterproof boots factored out any challenges of being out in the rain for long periods of time.

I made my way through the woods and caught an animal’s silhouette in my peripheral vision. To my left, a small black animal appeared, with its thick legs and stout midriff. It took my brain a few milliseconds to work through the surprise, but when I reevaluated the image, I realized the shape was an illusion made from two small trees in front of a tree stump. The angles had aligned perfectly to produce a shape my brain transformed into a wild animal. I laughed and kept moving. The raindrops sounded all around, falling on leaves on the trees and ground, popping against my raincoat and cap. Small beads of water formed on the brim, glowing from the ambient light, dripping away three and four drops at a time.

The creek, swollen from the rain, made loud rushing sounds. My mind flashed to a memory of waking up last night around two in the morning, hearing loud thunderclaps. In Texas, electrical storms were common and often produced severe lightning and cracks of thunder loud enough to shake your house. In North Carolina, however, thunder was relatively rare, despite receiving more rain each year.

On Beaver Tooth Rock, I sat in the icy rain for about forty minutes. I had sat in the rain in several places throughout my life, and this morning loosened memories of me sitting under a pouring sky in the backyard of my childhood home in Texas. My mind flashed to the weathering of storms while on the shores of Maui, the wetlands of Oregon, and in front of the Bahia de Mujeres in Puerto Juarez. Since I was a child, I enjoyed sitting in the rain, and the fiercer the storm, the better. 

Weather was the most powerful force I witnessed as a small child, and the large storms with their pelting rain, howling winds, and flashes of lightning that burned the sky all made me tremble. It was a visceral reminder that I was small, powerless, and insignificant, something I found comforting. To me, it was a sign that all of my fears and worries were equally trivial. In the grand scheme of things, nothing really mattered. The biggest problems weren’t as indomitable as they seemed in my adolescent brain. And even if those dark things felt like they were trying to grip and suffocate me, I came to understand that they had no power at all. Letting go of fear’s power over me only had one price, the acceptance that I too was powerless and blowing whimsically out of control in fate’s winds.

I made my way through the woodland and into the grove and noticed the deer were gone. The smell of the wet pines mixed with petrichor was intoxicating. When I arrived home, I found my new Yeti coffee mug on the dining room table. I grabbed it, slid open the small opening on the lid, and sipped the liquid with delight. The coffee was still hot, and I felt like Max returning to his room, finding a hot dinner waiting after his adventures in Where The Wild Things Are, my favorite childhood book.

After work, I headed back into the forest to sit on Beaver Tooth Rock. I enjoyed my newfound sense of awareness while in the woods. I was ready for whatever nature presented, and loosened my reliance on my expectations, leaving a small door open for each moment to present itself anew. The rain fell softly, but the winds picked up and the tall trees in the forest were waving from the strong wind. I made my way back toward the house, knowing my wife would be home soon.

When I arrived in the central part of the forest, I spotted my wife walking in the woods searching for me. We were happy to see each other and felt happy that a three-day weekend had officially begun. We headed back toward the creek where I wanted her to see the swollen water. New beaver dams and heavy rain had filled the area with several rushing streams, while the water levels spilled over into the ravine that housed the creek.

I shot a few photos of my wife and of a tiny frog she found near the creek’s bank. The sun was setting on the west and its light cut through the woods, reflecting off the water, casting a soft golden beam of light down the forest’s westward trail. We admired the postcard view and talked about how lucky we felt to live in such a beautiful place. That moment, with the setting sun, silhouetted trees, and soft light bathing the forest, was the official ending of the workweek and the start of a weekend full of possibilities.

March 27, 2024

Calling Cadence

The forecast called for rain all day and I woke up feeling tired. After washing up, I looked out of my office window and saw a herd of deer bedded in the pasture in front of my house. I joined my wife for coffee and we drank fresh lattes on the living room couch. Mine had a smiley face design.

After my wife left for work, the rain started pouring down. I sat in my office, writing for about an hour. After, I downloaded photographs and videos from my camera and worked on editing them. There was a nice shot of a female cardinal perched on a mimosa tree. The sky behind the bird was bright but overcast, making a perfect white background behind the cardinal. I liked another shot, this time a bright red male cardinal up in a tree, with a vivid blue background from a clear sky.

Yesterday, I shot a photograph of a deer in the pine grove. It was already dark, so the photo was grainy, but when I brightened the exposure, it was clear the doe was very pregnant. It looked like Lady. Lady was a doe that I had seen over the past year that always took an interest in me. Last year, she had two fawns, and anytime she spotted me, she would stand tall, stamping her hoof to the ground, warning me not to approach. Once her young grew, she always stuck around a little longer than the other deer. A herd would see me and spook, but Lady would remain, just watching me from a careful distance. She never approached closer than a few hundred yards, but it was close enough for us to recognize each other.

Does often have a single fawn during their first pregnancy. After, they commonly have twin or triplet fawns. Last year, Lady birthed two male fawns, and I wondered if she was carrying twins again. The deer here were not tame, and they would probably never trust me, but I had enjoyed seeing Lady over the past year and looked forward to spring when she would walk about the forest with her young.

Work was busy, but it was much calmer than the week before. On most days, I kept the shades in my office drawn closed to keep out the sun. The bright background affected the camera sensor on my laptop, causing me to look like I was sitting in the dark during online meetings. A metaphor perhaps. Today, however, I opened the shades to watch the rain. The skies were dark and the light entering the room was soft, making the ambience feel calm. I found the rain relaxing, and it made work more tolerable. While I don’t mind spending time outdoors in the rain, that wasn’t practical in my work clothes, so staying indoors felt natural, and not like I was missing out on something. During the storm, the whole of nature seemed to have the day off while the forest rested, drinking in water from the sky. That was nature’s way, movement and stillness, work and rest, sun and rain.

By the end of the workday, the rainfall had slowed to a drizzle. I grabbed my rain jacket and boots and headed into the forest. Everything was just as I expected. The forest was still, breathing slowly like a yogi in the savasana corpse pose after a hard practice. I strolled through the woods, imagining all the growth that would spring forth from the rain and upcoming sunny days. True to its character, the forest was changing daily, moving slowly but perceptible if you stopped and paid attention.

Yesterday, I learned the importance of not allowing my mind to fall into routines based on expectation. While what happens repeatedly is likely to happen again, I reminded myself that changes happened, serendipitous experiences occurred, and unexpected opportunities arose. I just had to be ready for them. What a concept; what a skill. To embrace reality as it is and go through your day prepared for what always happens, but still be at the ready to seize a change in the sea, to catch a rogue wave and ride it closer to your destiny. I walked carefully and quietly, paying attention to what the woods held in store for me. And even though no surprises occurred during today’s walk, I felt pleased I had readied myself. Unexpected changes could occur within us, too.

On my way home, I enjoyed the freshness of experience that came with the dropping of expectations. The cool wind blew in my face while drops of water fell sporadically on my hood, whispering to me, calling quiet cadence to stay with the present moment. A flock of geese flew overhead, their wings flapping in unison, calling cadence too, as did the waves of wind, the chirps of birds, and the quiet sounds of my soft footsteps. They were all reminders to stay here where life was happening, and to avoid being pulled into my head where my mind concocted a watered-down version of reality that was wholly incomplete.

When I arrived home, my wife was ready for dinner, so we jumped in the car and drove to the Cracker Barrel in Wilson, where we sat down, debriefing our day. We were both off work on Friday, so tomorrow was our last day of the work week and we looked forward to spending a long weekend together. We gassed up the car on the way home and then showered and went to bed. Lying in bed, I could still hear the forest calling out.

March 26, 2024

Eye To Eye

This morning, my wife and I woke up feeling energetic. As we sipped hot coffees, we talked about how we were both off work this coming Friday. A three-day weekend was a godsend. She proposed we go fishing, and I was all in. Twenty minutes before my wife left, I went outside to warm her car. Twilight was in process and the sky was lighting in thick bands of pink and blue, cutting the vast sky into layers. After I started her car, I went inside the house and grabbed my camera. Then, I headed into the pine grove, over to the crop field to take some pictures. Twilight was dressed to impress.

This morning, I started my morning walk in the woods on the westernmost trail. Although I didn’t use the trail often, I loved taking it now and then because everything seemed so new. On my normal route, I could tell if a branch had fallen, or if the trees looked different from the day before. Here, however, everything was unknown, which made the walk exciting.

During my walk, I found two large sections of pine tree that had fallen on smaller trees. I stopped to prop them up on their ends and then swayed them back and forth until the tree’s branches untangled. Then I let the dead sections of the tree fall, freeing the saplings that were being crushed. When I approached the west side of the creek, I heard fluttering noises, and when I came down the hill, a large covey of birds took flight, their wings flapping loud enough to startle me. I saw the large birds fly off through the branches but could not identify them.

It was time to head back to the house so I could shower and get ready for work. I knew, however, I would be back in the evening. During lunch, I dropped off the trash at the trash service center. Someone was visiting the location for the first time and had entered the small loop going the wrong way. This seemed to cause a lot of disruption. Small town problems. For lunch, I picked up a white pizza from Pino’s Pizza, which was made of mozzarella and ricotta cheeses, basil, and fresh garlic. It was outstanding.

When six o’clock rolled around, I shut down my computer, grabbed my camera, boots, a jacket, and headed into the woods. The longer days made for exciting evenings, giving me more time to explore before dark. Yesterday, I ran into a beautiful pileated woodpecker near the creek, so this evening, I had my camera and large telephoto lens with me. I thought the bird might be back in the area, or maybe the mallards would be at the creek. Walking quietly through the forest, I arrived at the location. It was quiet.

I moved east toward Beaver Tooth Rock. Out of habit, I climbed onto the large boulder without paying attention to my surroundings. I had sat on this large rock a hundred times, seeing nothing interesting. So, imagine my surprise when I was halfway up the rock and saw a deer herd standing in the ravine just twenty yards away. They were all staring at me. Like a pro, I pulled up my camera, flipping the power on simultaneously, aiming for the shot, and like an amateur, the deer were gone before I could fire off a single shot. It was a hard taught lesson. For humans, habits replaced awareness, but for an animal, awareness was a habit.

The herd ran east, quickly disappearing into the thick trees and brush. I sat on the rock quietly, feeling disappointed by my carelessness. Repeated experiences, it seemed, locked us into a false sense of reality by controlling our expectations. I had been to this rock a hundred times without seeing wildlife, so I approached it on the hundred and first time expecting to see nothing. My expectations had guided my behavior in a way that hindered the exact goal I was trying to achieve. This was a perfect example of how we got in our own way. This was how we made mistakes, by being ready for what we expected instead of being open to new experiences.

I watched the ravine for half an hour. Finally, to my right, I saw something move. The herd had circled back and was passing in front of me, this time at a greater distance and behind the vegetation. I watched them ease through the forest. One by one, they cut across my field of view. The light was dimming, but I still shot a few photographs, using the manual focus to find the deer that were hidden between the thick layers of trees. It was good practice, and I felt lucky to see them move naturally through the forest. After they were gone, I walked up the trail toward my house, feeling enthusiastic about the entire experience. But nature still had more in store for me.

When I arrived back at the pine grove, I glimpsed movement to my left, just outside the tree line in the empty field. I froze, spotting a lone doe trotting ahead of me, moving in the same direction. As luck would have it, my ground blind was about thirty yards in front of me, so I moved toward it, hoping the blind would block the deer’s view of me. When I arrived at the blind, I leaned out to the side with my camera up and ready. A minute passed. Then two. Finally, the lone doe walked into the empty lane in the pine grove. She stopped to feed and then looked toward me. She could probably smell me, but she could not see me since I was hiding behind the blind. I fired off several photos, hoping there was enough light to produce a decent image. She finally spotted me and we stood frozen, staring at one another. The doe’s belly was enormous, and she was likely pregnant. The entire scene lasted for about a minute, but it felt like an eternity. 

I was not superstitious, and I didn’t think luck was anything more than chance intersecting with preparedness. And I didn’t believe there was any divine intervention that brought the moment to pass. But being locked eye to eye with a wild animal was special. There was a sense of gravity and respect. The animal did not trust me, and if it was up close, I would not trust it. But I trusted in my role of the predator just as the deer trusted its instincts as the prey. But for a moment, we let those roles drop away, looking at each other with curiosity, immersed in each other’s presence, becoming a part of each other’s personal experience, a part of each other. Today was a good day.

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.

March 24, 2024

The Young Lady And The Sea

We woke up early on Sunday with plans to watch the sunrise at Buckhorn Reservoir and fish. It was a frigid morning, so I encouraged my wife to bundle up while I pulled out my winter clothes and threw them on. My wife prepared a large thermos of hot coffee and I grabbed earthworms from the worm bins in the shed. We headed out at twilight.

When we arrived, the reservoir was quiet, with only two boats being backed into the water. The banks and docks were devoid of life, except for the seagulls flying about, squawking, sounding like small children. The temperature was in the thirties and the wind was blowing hard toward the south, making small ripples in the water that moved from the shore to the middle of the lake. Wind gusts blew in every direction, creating fleeting patterns in the water.

Despite the cold, we found a comfortable spot on a worn wooden dock and set up shop. Today was my wife’s first day to fish. Exciting. I baited her hook with an earthworm, thanking it for its service, and she cast the line into the water like a pro. In a flash, she was fishing, reporting small bites on her line. I prepped my line, tying on a new leader with a swivel, small hook, and crimped weights. After, I threw my line into the water and joined in on the chilly fun. My wife passed me a small hand warmer that I placed in the pocket of my hoodie, and while one hand held my fishing rod, the other tried to stay warm in the heated pocket.

When the sun peered over the eastern tree line, the sky went bright. I felt warmer with the sun’s light shining on my face, directly from above, and reflecting off the water from below. My wife was casting perfectly, and I was proud of her. I had seen many people fish in the area, and she was a natural. I pulled out a tiny bass and threw it back into the water. When a second fish landed on my line, I handed the rod to my wife so she could learn what it felt like when a fish was hooked. She reluctantly reeled it in, but was having none of it. She wanted to catch her own fish, her words, not mine.

I was watching the tip of my wife’s fishing rod. It was twitching from a fish nibbling on the end of her line. She was focused and living in the moment. Then suddenly the rod bent toward the water while my wife screamed out in excitement. She had hooked a fish. She reeled in a small bluegill, which was the first I had seen this spring. In another month, that fish would be perfect catfish bait. It was a good catch. I grabbed my phone and shot a couple of pictures. We were both excited. Today, she caught her first fish, and by the looks of her face, she too was hooked.

While the reservoir was empty, it was a busy place. A large flock of seagulls flew back and forth, some hunting over the water while others cheered or jeered from the pier. A pair of cormorants flew by, and one stopped, landing on a pole marker that stood fifty yards off the pier. An osprey was in the area hunting and a large blue heron passed overhead. Traffic control definitely had their hands full. I sipped hot coffee as I imagined the radio traffic in my head.

I had moved down the pier, trying to catch more fish, when I received the two-minute warning. My wife alerted me, calling out, “Babe, I’m getting hungry”. I started my stopwatch, knowing that we had little time before she self-destructed. At least that’s the way she used to be. When she got hungry, she powered down pretty quickly. These days, her rapid onset of hunger was more of something I kidded her about. I cast my line one last time, and after I reeled it in, we packed up and made the lengthy five-minute trip home. 

On the way, my wife was shocked to learn we had fished for two hours. The time felt much shorter. I looked at her and asked, “See?”. Now she understood why I got lost while fishing, staying out for hours at a time. She told me she enjoyed the time on the water, that she could relax, and how it was another Zen place for her. Then, she told me we needed to buy a boat. The girl had plans.

We came home, mostly warm, except for my wife’s frozen toes, and drank a smoothie made from frozen fruit and milk. I made another cup of coffee and got busy writing while my wife studied in her office. After a few hours, we both ended up in the forest, working to clear a new area from dead trees, vines, and other debris. It was hard work. After a couple of hours, we had cleared much of the area, creating two large piles of dead branches. My wife’s ability to do physical labor always impressed me. By the time we finished, the morning smoothies had disappeared from our stomachs and we felt famished and weak. My wife prepared an amazing lunch, and we took our plates to the deck to feast outdoors. It was a gorgeous day.

After lunch, I ran my wife to the Piggly Wiggly to purchase a large container of oats. She wanted to bake cookies, and I requested oatmeal cookies with chocolate chips. Because we were decent human beings, we both agreed that raisins had no business in an oatmeal cookie. While I fell asleep on the dining room floor with Kilo, my wife performed her witchery in the kitchen. When I woke up, she had fresh oatmeal cookies with dark chocolate chips, oatmeal and coconut cookies, and regular chocolate chip cookies cooling on a tray. I wondered if I could get any more spoiled and accepted the challenge to try.

In the early evening, we both worked on our computers while sitting outside on the deck under the sun. It was sunny enough to keep from getting cold, and cool enough to keep from feeling hot. What was this strange weather? I wasn’t in Texas anymore. After a good study session, my wife went inside to take a bath and I headed out into the woods, taking photos, and sitting in the cleared area. We had plans to add flowers and a bench, and maybe some other natural decorations. The evening light was already gone from the pine grove as the sun headed toward the horizon. I walked back to the house and jumped into the shower.

For dinner, we went to Cracker Barrel and celebrated my wife’s first fish. We had a sumptuous dinner and drove home, ready for bed. It was a busy day, and although it was only 8:30 PM, we were both ready for sleep. When we arrived home, we saw six deer feeding near the house. We watched them from the car for a few minutes and then headed inside for the night. Last week, my wife and I had a strenuous work week. This weekend, we decompressed, and were ready to start anew. But first, sleep. 

In bed, I read a few journal entries for my wife. She listened and laughed as she inched closer, snuggling by my side. After two entries, she was ready for bed and fell fast asleep. I wasn’t wasn’t far behind.

March 23, 2024

The Devil’s Walking Stick

When my wife went to the store yesterday, she picked up two canisters of ready bake cinnamon rolls with orange icing. This morning we devoured the rolls, washing them down with hot coffee. After, we stood outside on the back porch looking into the forest. A large red-shouldered hawk flew above the towering pines while a lonely pair of geese passed over, their honks echoing across the yard. The skies were cloudy, but the scenery was serene; peaceful. We loved living in paradise.

Once back inside, the dogs started barking. When we looked out the front windows, a herd of six small deer were feeding in the pasture. I grabbed my rangefinder, and we used it to study the deer. Four of the six deer appeared to be pregnant. All the deer had shed their thick winter coats, except for one, that had patches of missing fur and tufts of loose hair sticking out. This made the young deer look sloppy, but cute.

I took the morning to write at my desk, and during a break, I got up to change my laundry from the washer to the dryer. From the kitchen, my wife asked if I wanted to take a walk in the woods. I grabbed a jacket, slipped on my BOGS boots, and headed out the front door. We headed into the grove, taking a detour to the place we had been working to clear. On the forest floor, my wife spotted small pink flowers, the first we had seen this spring. We inspected the surrounding trees, but could not tell from which tree the flowers fell. 

When we arrived at a natural clearing in the forest, my wife took after the devil by breaking all of his walking sticks. The devil’s walking stick was a stiff plant that grew straight up from the ground with mean, albeit not quite evil, barbs protruding in every direction. Once they grew, they were hard to get rid of, so my wife kicked them down while I snapped pictures of her, laughing at her parody of the karate kid. I encouraged the entire debacle by daring her to sweep the leg.

The forest was wet with the recent rainfall. While walking under a low-hanging tree, my wife grabbed and shook it, because mischievousness. We both got soaked and laughed as we continued toward the creek. The water level was high and there were falls and bends in the stream that made various sounds. We both commented on how relaxing it sounded. I always expected my wife to be timid in this wildest part of the forest, where the snakes sunbathed and coyotes traversed. True to her nature, however, my wife made an impromptu detour into the creek bed, where we walked through the deep mud and crossed the water by balancing on fallen logs. She’s fun like that.

I removed a blue bouncy ball with a handle that the creek’s current had washed away. My wife found a large Paw Patrol ball that was filled with water. We carried our loot to the top of Beaver Tooth Rock, where she stepped on the ball, which shot out a long stream of water. My loud laughter must have encouraged her because she suddenly jumped on the ball, shooting water everywhere like a cannon. We laughed, and I wondered if either of us would actually grow up one day. Probably not.

The dog food we placed on the rock was all gone, and my wife gathered the beaver teeth, for which the rock was named, into a pile. She even found the cat’s claw that a coyote, fox, or bobcat had eaten and excreted. We headed back home, where my wife disposed of her makeshift water cannon, while I threw the bouncy ball into the backyard. Koda promptly stalked and killed it. He carried the deflated ball around all afternoon. I went back to my office to write while my wife went to hers to study; the break served us both well.

It was supposed to rain all day, but by midday, the precipitation had cleared. Although it was still cloudy, the sky was bright. After eating a quick lunch at the house, my wife and I left to check out a nursery I spotted on my way to Wiggins Mill Reservoir. Our first visit to Great Gardens Nursery and Landscape did not disappoint. The sales area was two whole acres filled with a variety of trees and plants. We wanted to add some color and trees to the property, including some weeping willows and magnolias. The nursery also had chickens, peacocks, and a variety of garden decorations. Most exciting, they delivered and planted the trees, which were too large to transport home in our car. I envisioned a healthy purchase of trees and plants coming soon to a garden near me.

Since we were close to Wilson, I thought about stopping at Culvers for ice cream. When we got into the car, my wife turned to me and said, “Let’s go get some ice cream!” Yup. We still got it. After a tasty treat, we drove back home and my wife started preparing a large pork butt. She needed some cilantro, so I drove to the Piggly Wiggly to pick their last two bunches. She put the pork to cook and then we sat down at the dining room table to work. After an hour, we closed our laptops and headed outside to the deck. I cut firewood and started a fire. The wood was wet from yesterday’s rain, but with my wife’s help, we finally got the first coals to form. After, the fire raged with little effort.

It was a beautiful spring evening, and we enjoyed it to the fullest. While we sat in front of the fire, the sun came out, lighting the pine grove. The temperature dropped, but the fire did a fine job of keeping us toasty while we sipped on some cold suds. We sat outside enjoying nature, listening to music while the dogs stole and chewed up my firewood. The pork tacos were heavenly, and we ate outside just as dusk was setting in. As I was breaking up the remaining coals, I noticed a bat was out hunting insects, fluttering high above the backyard. I cleaned the kitchen while my wife bathed, and then I showered before heading to bed. Tomorrow morning, we were waking up early to fish. Together.

March 22, 2024

The Holy Land

Happy Friday. This morning, my wife and I slept in. I was still trying to figure out my new schedule after the recent time change. In the winter, I was in bed by nine at night and up by four in the morning. Now, the extra light at day’s end changed things. My desire to take advantage of the sun meant I would be awake later. I decided sleeping from ten to five might be the way to go.

After coffee, I took a walk into the pine grove and cut across a small trail that lead to the area my wife had recently cleared. She also cleaned the trail from dried leaves and twigs, making it easy to walk without making noise. As I made my way through the area and down an incline, I heard a soft single deer bark. Looking up, six deer popped up, quickly leaving. Apparently, they thought the newly cleared area was beautiful, too. After a hectic work week, seeing the deer and being in the forest washed all the busyness away. As the deer disappeared into the forest, things went quiet, both in the woods and inside my head.

My wife had a practical exam later in the afternoon, but she was off school for the morning, so she left to run several errands while I worked from my office. I opened the shades in my office, stopping momentarily to inspect the view. It was sunny, but it was supposed to rain later in the day. By lunch time, the sky had clouded up, and it was obvious the weather report which called for rain was accurate. During lunch, I made a quick run to the trash service center and dropped off several bags into the garbage receptacle and placed some folded boxes into the cardboard recycling bin. When I returned home, I parked my vehicle out in the open, hoping the rain would provide a free car wash and rinse off the thick layer of yellow pine pollen.

After lunch, I got back to work. I noticed it was raining lightly and after another hour; the rain started pouring down. Outside the window, I spotted one of the large red-shouldered hawks flying through the pasture and into the pine grove. A pair of these hawks nested nearby, and they always seemed to be out during the rain. Many times, I saw them sitting stoically on a fencepost while the rain poured. Maybe the water flushed out moles and mice that made for good hunting. I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that a large two-foot hawk sitting unflinchingly in the rain captured the raptor’s sense of beauty and mystery.

I turned my work computer off at 6:26 PM, almost a half hour after work was over. I had a few late things come in and wanted to resolve them before the weekend began. This week was one of the busiest I had in recent years, but the weekend was finally here. The rain had slowed, and I went into the woods for a quick walk.

I loved walking through the forest on a rainy day. The forest floor was damp and quiet, making it easy to move through the woods without making too much noise. I sauntered down the trail as a cool breeze blew into my face. The air felt refreshing and also signaled the wind was carrying away my scent, allowing me to approach an area without being detected by wildlife. When I stopped to listen, I heard the wind approaching from far away, as it rustled through the treetops slowly reaching me. When the wind arrived, it shook all the surrounding trees, dropping water droplets on my head and on the ground. After the large gust blew by, the forest went quiet once again.

While sitting at Beaver Tooth Rock, I thought about the opening to Henry David Thoreau’s essay, Walking, in which he talked about the art of walking or sauntering. In his essay, Thoreau mentioned some people believed the word saunterer came from the words “Sainte Terre”, which meant Holy Land. This was used to describe people making a pilgrimage by walking to a place they deemed special. Others believed the word saunterer came from the word “sans terre”, which meant having no home. While these were not Thoreau’s assertions, I wondered how anyone who ever spent a good deal of time in nature could believe that a holy land needed to be traveled to, or that any human could be apart from our home. This planet was our home, as we were all born from nature. And as for holiness, every square inch of it was right here where I sat.

While sitting at Beaver Tooth Rock, the water appeared to flow slower than usual, despite the rain-filled day. I was curious if the water was dammed to the west, so I gathered my things and made my way down the creek. The water on the west side was the way it had been for the past week. I guess it just hadn’t rained as much as I thought. The west side of the creek, however, was higher than this time last year. From the bank, I could see two new dams built by the beavers, which had affected the general direction and flow rate of the creek.

I made my way home, keeping a close eye on my wife’s position along her drive home. When she was thirty miles from the house, I called in an order to Pinos Pizza and left to pick it up. While I was paying at the pizzeria, I saw they were selling slices of cheesecake topped with strawberries, so I picked up a slice for my wife. She had a rough evening at school and I wanted to cheer her up. I thought my timing was pretty good as my wife arrived back at our house just four minutes before I returned with the food. Before I arrived, she texted me that the deer were in the pasture. As my vehicle approached this area, a deer shot out across our dirt road, while a second deer cleared the five-foot fence with ease right in front of me. I pulled past the pasture, where one deer remained feeding on the newly sprouted grasses. It was time to let go of the week and start the weekend. Everything would be right there waiting for us on Monday morning.

March 21, 2024

Immovable

My wife and I slept in this morning, and when we awoke, we went outside to watch the sun peering through the grove. It was beautiful, but cold, so we went back inside and made some coffee, drinking it on the couch as we talked. My wife had the day off, but I had a busy day of work ahead of me.

My morning was hectic, and by the time I looked up from my desk, it was time for lunch. I drove to the Piggly Wiggly in Bailey and picked up some beef short ribs for the evening. We had plans for barbecue and some quality time by the fire. Before my lunch break ended, I took a quick walk into the woods to get some fresh air before diving back into my work. When I arrived at the creek, a pair of mallards swimming in the stream surprised me. This was the first time I saw ducks in this area. They really were beautiful creatures, especially the males with their emerald green head and bright blue feathers on the lower part of their wings.

I made a stop at Beaver Tooth Rock. When I entered the woods, it was drizzling, but now it was raining harder. Despite the weather, I sat down to rest, watching the rain fall. This week, there was a lot of pressure at work, and I wondered why such things created stress. I remembered a Japanese concept called Fudoshin, which translated as “immovable mind”. This was the notion that with training, the mind could prevent falling prey to things that caused stress. In such a state, one could remain impervious to pressure, remaining as emotionally stable as the large rock I was sitting on.

While pondering the subject of an immovable mind, I realized stress entered our minds when we had negative thoughts. That was, when we ruminated on our experiences, we were prone to think negatively, which triggered physiological mechanisms that disrupted our emotions. It was this disturbance that caused the negative emotions we perceived as stress. The key, I decided, was to stop ruminating on those things that were prone to creating pressure. Most of the things we dwelled on were scenarios we imagined, and not experiences that had actually occurred.

This closely connected to a Japanese concept called Mushin, or empty mind. Having an empty mind was the practice taught to me in my martial arts training, where we tapped into a mental level beyond, or rather beneath, conscious thought. This practice of not consciously grabbing onto thoughts was precisely the state of a mind that could become impervious, or immovable. These practices, fudoshin and mushin, I decided, would become the focus of my current development.

My wife was also under a lot of pressure with her graduate program, which was basically a full-time job with a full load of studies. She had been trudging through this program for twenty months now, and the physical and cognitive demands kept the students in the program on edge. I noticed, however, I always had useful advice for her. When someone you love needs support, the path to help them was always remarkably clear. But, when we, ourselves, felt stressed, the advice that comes so easily to help others often falls on our own deaf ears and blind eyes. Why was that? Why were we unlikely to give ourselves good advice and follow it?

I decided a good practice would be to place a person we cared about in our scenario and write what advice we would give to that person. Then, we should take that list and apply it to our own life. I went back to work in a pensive state, curious to see how I could work with these ideas and how they would affect my state of mind. Work was busy, but I was fine. While the day didn’t end in the most comfortable of situations, I felt like I had done everything that could be done. And for once, that felt like enough.

My wife spent part of her day working in the forest. After my work was done, she invited me into the woods to see what she had done. There was a special area in the forest behind our backyard that sloped down and out of view from the house. The trees in the area were very peculiar. They were windswept, full of bright green mosses, and surround by large stones. The entire scene reminded me of an Oregon wetland or Japanese garden. My wife began clearing a trail in the area, and we had plans to plant flowers and other flora. We also wanted to place a sitting bench in the area, so we could have a nice place to relax that was secluded but close to the house.

After we returned from the woods, I cut some firewood and started a fire. My wife joined me on the rear deck and we sipped cold beers while watching the flames dance. Tonight, there was no music, just the sounds of the fire crackling, birds singing, and frogs croaking in the distance. Once the grilling was done, we took the food inside to eat. To my surprise, my wife added a few pieces of wood to the fire before we went inside the house. I asked what she was doing, and she said she wanted to keep the fire going for me, so I could sit outside for a bit after dinner while she soaked in the tub. What a perfect partner.

After we ate, my wife went to bathe, and I found myself back outside by the fire, sitting underneath the stars, staring up into the sky. I added a few more pieces of wood, enough to cover the slow sipping of whiskey as I thought about my wife. Life really was so much better when shared with someone. Not just anyone, but a person who loved me just the way I was, and whom I adored just the way she was. Life had taught us both that you can only feel safe when the person you love allows you to be completely vulnerable and then fiercely protects that sacred place.

The moon rose steadily, moving up from the east horizon; the stars twinkled against the black sky.

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. 

March 19, 2024

Unexpected Visitor

The warm spring weather gave way to a frosty morning. After our normal routine of coffee and chores, I saw my wife off to work and then sat down to write for an hour. After, I bundled up and headed into the pine grove.

The temperature was 33 degrees with a stiff breeze, and I was surprised by how cold it felt. How quickly I had acclimated to the warmer March weather. And yet, the cold felt familiar, like an unexpected visit from a good friend whose mere presence filled the air with pleasant memories and hopes for new adventures. 

In the grove, I turned down a cleared lane between the trees. The straight path extended for several acres, making for a scenic view, with the large pines pulling my eyes into the distance. The trees on the north side of the grove were dark, but the south side of the grove lit up, bathed in the morning’s golden light. I turned north and headed into the woodland, noting the loud songs of birds waking.

I made my way to the creek and then east to Beaver Tooth Rock. There, I sat shivering, watching over the ravine. This year, I had embraced winter, and now I missed her. As my hands ached in the cold, I wondered why I loved it so much. Being cold challenged me and gave perspective to the comforts of life. Sitting there, I anticipated the joys of walking into a warm house, holding a hot cup of coffee between my numb hands, and then jumping into a steamy shower that would make my scalp and skin tingle. Ah, winter, I missed you.

I looked out into the ravine. The sun cast a light on the tips of the tallest trees before me. The earth was warming, the wildlife awakening, and the day felt full of promise and hope. Mornings were a reminder that the day was unwritten, a clean white piece of paper upon which I could write my day as I pleased. This empty page felt calm and stable, and I wanted to hold on to this memory throughout the day. For me, nothing ruined the white paper as quickly as the news or social media, which felt like tipping over a bottle of ink on my only page. You just get one chance per day.

A few days ago, my wife and I brought a bag of dog food into the woods and poured it into two large bowls. One bowl sat on Beaver Tooth Rock. I noticed that something was eating it little by little, probably the raccoons. We had to get rid of the dog food because my sensitive son, Bodhi, was allergic to the beef based kibble. We replaced it with a salmon based food that agreed more with his skin. Five or six crows flew into the surrounding trees, cackling and cawing. They were so loud and busy. I wondered what they were saying. I imagined they were laughing at me and saying, “hey there’s that guy that climbed into the tree stand with all the hornets yesterday. And where are his fancy warm gloves? It’s cold out. Dummy.”

I walked west and found a comfortable spot near the creek. There was a thin branch lying just above the water’s surface, where the wind was blowing through. A thin layer of ice had formed around the twig, something I had not seen for a few weeks now. I knew that this was probably the last frosty morning until late fall, and I was happy I was outside experiencing it. My hands were throbbing, and I felt shivers shoot through my neck and down my spine. I made my way back to the grove where the sun was now glaring and found a space between the trees where the sun’s rays were shining. I sat there for a few minutes, trying to warm myself. A single goose flew over the grove, heading northeast. Below me was a round spider web perfectly dusted in yellow pine pollen. It was a glorious morning.

Work, today, was busy but productive. During my lunch break, I drove into Bailey to pick up paper plates and napkins from the Piggly Wiggly that I needed for the camera club meeting this evening. On the way back into Sims, I saw several tractors tilling up the fields, leaving long dust trails behind them. Planting season was here. I took a minor detour and stopped by the reservoir to take a few pictures. The pine pollen still stained the water, but it was a bright, beautiful day.

The clear skies made for good visibility, making the lake seem more vast. An osprey was flying over the water, diving for fish. For a moment, my mind flashed to the many shores I had called home. I had stood out facing the water many times in my life, in Texas, Cancun, Puerto Juarez, Maui, and Japan. The water seemed endless and unpredictable, and yet throughout the ages, humans have stepped away from the stability of land and into the abyss in search of something better or, at least, different. What drove us to do that? My mind turned to a poem I wrote many years ago.

Ocean, tell me why

Land’s safety cannot quell my

Desire to cross you.

Am I seeking new shores or 

For the journey in between?

I headed home and dove back into my work. Around three o’clock, I took a quick break and made a cappuccino and sat on the front stoop in the sun. I really loved coffee, and it felt good to feel the sun’s warmth on my face. Work had been productive, and I was happy with the progress I made. Just as I was relishing the moment, and it seemed things couldn’t get any better, I saw a light colored vehicle turn down our dirt road. Wait, that wasn’t a light colored car. It was my wife’s black SUV covered in pine pollen. She was home early. She pulled up, flashed that gorgeous smile that hooked me the first time I saw her, and then chided me about how hard my life was. We both laughed and embraced. After greeting the dogs, she immersed herself in her studies while I got back to work.

After work, I grabbed the food my wife purchased for the camera club meeting. She had made a Costco run and there were large containers of croissants, cinnamon-orange rolls, danishes, and more. I loaded up my vehicle, kissed my wife, and headed out the door. The meeting was fun, and a speaker provided instruction on photographing the sun and solar eclipses. There was also a photo contest we voted on. All the entries impressed me and I appreciated the efforts of the participants. Joining the Wilson Camera Club had been a great experience.

I arrived home a little after nine and my wife was already in bed. I snuck into the bedroom to give her a kiss, knowing she wouldn’t sleep well until she knew I was home safe. In the kitchen, she left handwritten instructions scribed on butcher paper on how to prepare the dinner she left me, which included a salad with homemade Caesar dressing and fresh grilled salmon. The food was amazing. I ate quickly, jumped in the shower and climbed into bed, ready to sleep after a busy, productive, and happy day. 

March 18, 2024

The Hornets Nest

It was a typical morning in our home. We were up before the sun, and after coffee, my wife got ready for work as I threw a load of laundry in the washer. When I exited the house to warm up my wife’s car, I saw particles of pine pollen floating through the porch light. Pollen completely enveloped her car. After she left, I sat down at my desk to write.

Just before twilight, I walked into the woods. The air smelled of pollen from the pines and smoke from a neighbor’s chimney. With each step, puffs of yellow smoke rose from the forest floor, created by the thin powdery pollen that coated the ground. In the grove, I passed by the apple-flavored salt lick, noticing something had finally found it, part of its surface worn smooth, probably from a deer’s tongue. When I looked east, the view looked like a postcard, with the crop field’s bright green grasses and tall budding trees growing above. There were large horizontal bands of dark clouds that rose in layers from the ground to the sky above me, and the spaces between the bands were glowing brightly. I stopped to photograph the scene.

The trail was turning greener by the day. Near the central part of the forest, I heard a loud sound, like the cry or bark of a coyote. I stopped and looked around, but spotted nothing. To my left, I saw the tips of the tallest trees lighting, indicating the sun had lifted above the eastern tree line. As I walked, my ankles itched inside my boots, and when I arrived at Beaver Tooth Rock, I slipped one off, noticing swollen mosquito bites. They must have been out last night as I relaxed by the fire.

I sat at Beaver Tooth Rock for a while, soaking up the morning sounds. Songbirds chirped all around as woodpeckers thumped on the nearby trees. A blue heron flew above me. I had tried to photograph this enormous bird for over a year now. I’ll get him one day. Large gusts of wind traveled through the forest. I heard them coming from afar, getting louder until they finally reached me, blowing frigid air on me before moving on. The wind reminded me of being on the pier at the reservoir. In the distance, boats would rush by, creating large wakes. I could see these waves moving slowly toward me, until several minutes later, they finally rocked the pier, while the boat had long disappeared from sight.

This morning, I planned to sit in the tree stand near the creek. When I arrived at the stand, I connected my harness to the safety rope and made my way up the thirty-foot climb with my camera and a large telephoto lens strapped around my shoulder and hanging on my back. When I arrived at the top, I had to swing open an arm that holds a canvas material that covers the seating area, something that aided in camouflaging my position up in the trees. The material had been on the stand for years and was full of mosses and fungi. I flipped the arm up, inspected the stand for snakes and spiders, and then crawled up onto the platform to sit.

As soon as my butt hit the seat, I heard something buzzing nearby. A single wasp was sitting on the stand next to me, about twelve inches to my right. It looked large and menacing, but moved slowly and did not appear agitated. The wasp drifted off the blind and floated off into the forest. Another wasp emerged and did the same thing. Then another and another. Flipping up the material around the stand must have disturbed a nest. I sat completely still as over forty wasps came out, crawling slowly, and then drifting off into the breeze. I waited for them all to leave, but they kept coming. This was a very precarious situation, as I could not exit the stand without flipping back the material. I didn’t want a swarm of wasps attacking me while I was trying to get down a thirty-foot ladder. Oh, the joys.

I felt lucky the wasps were calm, and that they were leaving one by one. But how many were there? Should I wait them out? After ten minutes of remaining perfectly still, the situation worsened. The wasps that had left the stand returned. I knew if one of them became agitated, then they’d all be on me like a swarm of  — well, wasps? Inch by inch, I lowered myself into a seated position on the stand’s floor, my boots dangling, searching for the ladder’s top step. I finally found it and eased down, facing away from the ladder, which is the exact opposite of how a ladder was supposed to be used. Once I was down far enough to slip completely out from under the material, I turned around and faced the ladder, making my way to the ground. Crisis averted.

In the evening, my wife came home with several goodies. While in Raleigh, she made an impromptu trip to Costco and bought several snacks for me to take to the monthly Wilson Camera Club meeting tomorrow. During the last meeting, I volunteered to bring food. My wife had picked up bottles of water, croissants, danishes, and other yummy pastries. I had planned to make a trip to the story this evening, and I was trying to figure out what to take, as I wanted everyone to have some delightful treats during the meeting. I felt like a little kid whose parent had done their science fair project. There would be no trip into town tonight!

I chopped some wood and lit a fire on the patio while my wife whipped up some of her famous homemade ranch dressing. She made a quick salad with pizza and we ate outside, talking about our day. Yesterday, we both felt life’s stresses. This evening, however, the reports were conclusive. My wife received positive feedback and encouragement at work and in a meeting with her school counselor, who assured her she was doing well. It’s always nice to hear that from someone who has all the data in front of them. My long list of work items was shorter than expected, and when I delved into the bigger projects, they were simpler than I anticipated.

My wife and I talked about how when we felt pressure, it was often self-induced. This was a tricky path, because while overthinking can turn a non-stressful situation into a problem, it was also our attention to detail that helped make us successful in our respective careers. So, the part of our character that produced positive results was also the same part of us that made certain times feel stressful. The trick was to learn to balance it perfectly so that we could reap the benefits without the negative side effects. Of course, as humans, it was not only unlikely to happen, but it was guaranteed that we would repeatedly face this challenge in life. We could either be all in or all out. Rather than getting rid of the negatives, which admittedly, were inevitable, we would learn how to better manage stress and how to snap ourselves out of these tricky cycles. Having a partner with a keen eye was key. My wife knew when to shake me awake, and I knew when she needed the same. The basic moral here is to shake your babies. Wait.

As we talked, a herd of deer were in the trails behind our house, possibly eavesdropping on our conversation. When they grew bored, they moved to the pasture out front to feed. My wife and I watched the sun hit the tips of the eastern pines in the grove, signaling the sun was about to set in the west. Then, at 7:08 PM, like someone flipped a switch, the golden light was gone. My wife went inside to bathe and I stay outside by the fire, sipping some single barrel bourbon. It was a beautiful night, and I knew I would miss this the next evening. The camera club meeting would take me away from this place, but hey, sometimes I had to show my face in society.