It was lovely outside. Snow had refreshed the half-melted landscape, lending an air of crispness and monochromatic starkness to my garden. In the dark of this very early morning I pulled on my deep blue gloves and went out to pursue snowflakes. Standing in the stillness I held out a finger, as though to catch butterflies, and waited. Their intricate, unique architecture is an elusive prize. If one lands, I’ll have perhaps a second to admire its beauty. Even through the glove it senses warmth, and that is the death of it - or, say the sages - its transformation into something else.
Ah! A perfect flake settled onto my finger; I stared; a second later - gone. Snowflakes always remind me to cherish the moment, to really look at things I see all the time.
It was snowing when I woke a few days ago at about four a.m. A nosy soul, I thought it would be the perfect time to find out what my neighbors were up to. I bundled up and went across the street into Hannah Park. It’s right there in black and white - all the latest news about who’s doing what, where.
Turkey tracks! Heavens. I hadn’t realized turkeys lived around here! Oh - a raccoon had ambled by quite recently, leaving prints uncannily like ours. I learned to read animal news as a child, when my parents rented a cabin deep in the forest on Elk Lake. Until then I hadn’t truly grasped that another fascinating world wakes up and moves around while we’re snoring away.
A week ago I woke up gagging on skunk odor, and ran outside to see her tracks on the front lawn; they’re unmistakable.
Recently I split a coconut husk to add bits to my cereal while I watched a squirrel tear open a golf-ball-sized black walnut husk. Huh. What would that rodent do with a coconut hunk? I trotted outside and plunked a small piece of the white meat down where he’d been. Inside again, my spyglass gave me a fine close-up view. The coconut strip, about an inch long, was inspected carefully. He finally bit into one end, chewed, and - phloof - spit it out. But - wait a minute!
…Actually, that wasn’t too bad…
Reconsidering, he scarfed down the rest, then paused to ponder the taste.
Verrry interesting…
He sniffed hopefully around, in case he’d missed something, so I ran out again and dropped two more strips in the same place. The minute I left, he bounced over and devoured them with no hesitation. Yum!
Crack a coconut sometime, and leave a chunk out there; squirrels are fun to watch as they dig out the meat. Actually, we both tackle this task using many of the same movements.
Emma, my friend’s rescued-from-hell dog (read her story in Last July’s column), who hasn’t barked in the two years she’s lived with her forever family, has begun alerting Les when certain strangers jog past the farmhouse. Her woof is barely audible. Mostly, her cheeks puff. Les has bat-ears, though. He always goes to the window, checks, and says, “Thanks, Emma; everything’s fine.”
She’ll sigh, and relax.
Recently, though, she’s been thinking about using her voice to ask for something for herself. Nothing ventured…So, the next time she wanted out, she risked it.
…woof…
When Les came, she looked first at the door, then up at him.
Outside, please?
Smiling, he opened the door. She scooped up her shredded tennis ball and pranced proudly into the snow, tail wagging, head high, eyes shining! They were talking! And she’d made it happen!
We live just once, but, if we work it right - if we learn to look for, appreciate and be part of life’s small delights and tiny triumphs, once is enough.