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One of the greatest things about freshly falling snow is the ability to not only track critters but to be able to estimate how long since a track had been made. Today is one of those days.
As we clearly laid fresh tracks of our own, along the trail we also stumbled upon some really interesting footprints that resembled a raccoon but hopped like a rabbit; a rabcoon? I thought about taking a picture to reference upon my return home, yet defaulted to: lazy. Then I saw, and Kola sniffed, the tracks of what appeared to be a dog until the absence of human leash bound tracks did not accompany them. It was at this moment the track turned from dog to coyote. Then, making the further inspection it was missing a key element of nails similar to Kola at which point this track spoke more clearly of a bobcat.
Now, mind you, I am a suburban housewife who dabbles in the metaphysics of peanut butter & jelly sandwiches. I spend a little more time outdoors than most and I feel pretty lucky that I can provide this daily decadence for my chocolate lab.Reaping the benefits as well, I recognize how time in nature feeds me, too. I love the silence, the fresh air, the birds and today, the tracking.
Occasionally, I'll strike up a conversation with a person walking the other direction who is carrying a big stick. What I learn is that this particular neighbor is afraid of barking dogs. Or more precisely the chance that one of these barking dogs are going to maul him or his ankles depending on their size. Another phobic neighbor urges me to walk with a stick because of the Mountain Lion that her husband had spotted from the safety of his lounge chair. (Their house is now for sale.) Or yet another neighbor who walks with mace, ever vigilant from her days living in Manhattan. Today I recognized my judgement at how I scoffed at their advice.
The amateur sort of tracking I do lends itself nicely to the illusion of safety. The moment the percentage of possibility that these may be the track of a mountain lion or bobcat my first reaction was, "Cool!" Kola's first reaction was, "I gotta pee on that." My second reaction was, "Shit! I better look around for this kitty or, at the very least, for a big friging stick."
It's amazing how the Universe sets you up to live your own judgement.
Thirty minutes later, bearing left to head back up the hill and finally face away from the snow I look down on the lightly dusted pavement to see barefoot, Homo Sapien tracks. Fumbling for my phone, as lazy has just been shed like a big terd, I am lining up this aberration in the sights of my iPhone camera. Yet, the snow plow who roars up from behind, beats us to the fresh prints with this plow and spreader. Alls I can think is," Holy God Almighty...who cares about the Mountain Lion...there is one bat-shit, cra cra dude out here. Where's that stick when you need it!" Backing up 20 feet to their point of origin, the deeper snow reveals a slight tread attached to the individual piggies. This seems to calm me enough so as to loosen the grip on flash fried fear and wishes that I would have in fact chosen a hefty, formidable tree limb. But still. We here in the Northeast are pretty conservative Timberland, Sorel or Muck Boot subscribers. I don't see anyone batting a California eye at this data.
Seconds later, running down the hill in his floppy dreads, prep school athletic fatigues and this gnarly foot apparel comes the happiest dude I've seen since I was doing yoga on the beach in Hawaii. In a fit of laughter and relief, we reflect back to one another the magic of the day. He and I absorbing its beauty each in our unique, outlier fashions. As he trounced back to his base camp, I surrendered my ridiculous assumptions and Mucked back up the hill.
I will die eventually. Will it be by the jaws of a mountain lion? The deafening and incessant barks of dogs? The stray mugger wearing FiveFingers shoes? Doubtful. What I choose, is to stay continually in awe of now, never dulled or deadened by the slow trickle draw of perpetual, paralyzing fear. I choose to smile and wave. I choose to observe. I choose to be kind to myself and others. I choose to live my life one hot track to the next.
As we clearly laid fresh tracks of our own, along the trail we also stumbled upon some really interesting footprints that resembled a raccoon but hopped like a rabbit; a rabcoon? I thought about taking a picture to reference upon my return home, yet defaulted to: lazy. Then I saw, and Kola sniffed, the tracks of what appeared to be a dog until the absence of human leash bound tracks did not accompany them. It was at this moment the track turned from dog to coyote. Then, making the further inspection it was missing a key element of nails similar to Kola at which point this track spoke more clearly of a bobcat.
Now, mind you, I am a suburban housewife who dabbles in the metaphysics of peanut butter & jelly sandwiches. I spend a little more time outdoors than most and I feel pretty lucky that I can provide this daily decadence for my chocolate lab.Reaping the benefits as well, I recognize how time in nature feeds me, too. I love the silence, the fresh air, the birds and today, the tracking.
Occasionally, I'll strike up a conversation with a person walking the other direction who is carrying a big stick. What I learn is that this particular neighbor is afraid of barking dogs. Or more precisely the chance that one of these barking dogs are going to maul him or his ankles depending on their size. Another phobic neighbor urges me to walk with a stick because of the Mountain Lion that her husband had spotted from the safety of his lounge chair. (Their house is now for sale.) Or yet another neighbor who walks with mace, ever vigilant from her days living in Manhattan. Today I recognized my judgement at how I scoffed at their advice.
The amateur sort of tracking I do lends itself nicely to the illusion of safety. The moment the percentage of possibility that these may be the track of a mountain lion or bobcat my first reaction was, "Cool!" Kola's first reaction was, "I gotta pee on that." My second reaction was, "Shit! I better look around for this kitty or, at the very least, for a big friging stick."
It's amazing how the Universe sets you up to live your own judgement.
Thirty minutes later, bearing left to head back up the hill and finally face away from the snow I look down on the lightly dusted pavement to see barefoot, Homo Sapien tracks. Fumbling for my phone, as lazy has just been shed like a big terd, I am lining up this aberration in the sights of my iPhone camera. Yet, the snow plow who roars up from behind, beats us to the fresh prints with this plow and spreader. Alls I can think is," Holy God Almighty...who cares about the Mountain Lion...there is one bat-shit, cra cra dude out here. Where's that stick when you need it!" Backing up 20 feet to their point of origin, the deeper snow reveals a slight tread attached to the individual piggies. This seems to calm me enough so as to loosen the grip on flash fried fear and wishes that I would have in fact chosen a hefty, formidable tree limb. But still. We here in the Northeast are pretty conservative Timberland, Sorel or Muck Boot subscribers. I don't see anyone batting a California eye at this data.
Seconds later, running down the hill in his floppy dreads, prep school athletic fatigues and this gnarly foot apparel comes the happiest dude I've seen since I was doing yoga on the beach in Hawaii. In a fit of laughter and relief, we reflect back to one another the magic of the day. He and I absorbing its beauty each in our unique, outlier fashions. As he trounced back to his base camp, I surrendered my ridiculous assumptions and Mucked back up the hill.
I will die eventually. Will it be by the jaws of a mountain lion? The deafening and incessant barks of dogs? The stray mugger wearing FiveFingers shoes? Doubtful. What I choose, is to stay continually in awe of now, never dulled or deadened by the slow trickle draw of perpetual, paralyzing fear. I choose to smile and wave. I choose to observe. I choose to be kind to myself and others. I choose to live my life one hot track to the next.
Ask Yourself:
How big is your stick?
Julie recommends: Finding Your Way in a Wild New World, by Martha Beck
Julie Bowes - Metalsmith/Spiritual Facilitator/Indentured Hash Slinger
P.O. Box 82
Sherman, CT 06784
203.240.4397
P.O. Box 82
Sherman, CT 06784
203.240.4397
