Archive for August, 2018

Aug 30 2018

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Wild, Not Wild

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A flock of turkeys wandered into my back yard yesterday morning. About a dozen of them fed along the edge between the mowed grass and where I have let my yard go wild. My wife Judy also saw the birds, as did our dog Matika who barked at them once. They weren’t much impressed by that.

Later on, as Matika was in the other room sleeping, I spotted a turkey trotting right along the edge of the patio, about 15 feet from the door. Several others followed. Clearly these turkeys have no concept of the difference between a wild landscape and a domesticated one. Either that or they simply don’t care.

A barred owl swooped across the yard the other day, landing on top of my car. When Judy and I poked our heads out the door to get a good look at it, the owl flew to the next door neighbor’s roof. We have heard owls nearly every night since then. I usually associate owls with the wild, but two miles from town my home hardly qualifies as a wild place even though it does back up against a good patch of woods. Evidently, owls aren’t as skittish around people as I thought they were. Either that or they find the hunting around here too good to pass up.

Deer passing through, spiders making webs in the siding of my house, hummingbirds at the planters, toads in the grass, and the occasional garter snake slithering into the garage – my turf is overrun with creatures that simply do not acknowledge the boundary between what is cultivated and what is wild. The other night I saw a bat flying in circles overhead, no doubt feasting on mosquitoes. Better than citronella candles to be sure.

Along the edge between the grass and the wild part of my back yard, I have planted a few domestic bushes and flowers that also happen to grow naturally in the wild. I have pulled out grass, dandelions and other undesirables there, as well, making room for the ferns and other wild plants that I prefer. “Unnatural selection,” I call it. Judy calls it “cultivating the wildness,” in a somewhat humorous reference to a book of mine. Yeah, I’ve muddled matters in my back yard to say the least.

For a while now, I’ve been pondering wildness and being human, trying to get a bead on exactly what it is that separates us from the rest of nature. It’s not an easy task. And the creatures wandering into my back yard don’t make the matter any easier. Perhaps the difference between what is wild and what is not wild is not nearly as distinct as we like to think it is. Perhaps it is just a matter of degree.

 

 

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Aug 15 2018

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Back on the Brook

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Judy and I wanted to go backpacking but Matika is in bad shape these days. After agonizing about what she could or could not handle, we decided to risk it, walking our old, nearly lame dog into the woods less than a mile.

The three of us crept along, following the path of least resistance through the trees and across broken ground. We soon reached a sweet spot on a favorite brook and, thankfully, Matika was no worse for wear. There we put up our tent and hung out for a while.

Judy badly needed the forest time. When she told me that 5 years have passed since she last spent a night in the woods, I could hardly believe it. The biggest obstacle has been her hip pain, so we acquired a “luxury” Therma-rest pad to take care of that. It worked quite well.

The brook was surprisingly low, even for August, but our camp was so close to it that we could enjoy the soothing sound of water rushing over rocks all the same. Off trail and tucked into the woods, we had the place all to ourselves.

Judy started decompressing right away – reading, napping, and just sitting next to a brook that washed away all concerns. I puttered about camp – tending a small fire, boiling up tea, or simply grooving on the wild as I usually do. Matika chewed up a lot of sticks.

Our second day in the woods was perfect with lots of sunshine breaking through the forest canopy, temps in the high 70s, and few bugs. We lounged about all day. That evening, as clouds moved in, we secured our camp against rain. Sure enough it came in the middle of the night, making our world a pretty damp one when we crawled out of the tent the next day. No matter. We took our sweet time eating breakfast then packing up.

Matika slipped in front of us a few times during the hike out, sniffing around then smiling her big wolfish smile. Yeah, it was a good outing for all three of us.

 

 

 

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Aug 05 2018

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On the AT Again

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Once again I accompanied my old buddy John Woodyard in his decades-long quest to hike the Appalachian Trail one section at a time. A couple years ago we hiked together in southern Vermont. Before that, I joined him on the 40-mile section of the AT between the Connecticut River and Sherburne Pass. This time we started at Route 25 in New Hampshire and hiked south to the Connecticut River.

It was a tough hike with plenty of elevation change. Originally we had planned to do it in 4 days, but soon found out that we needed more time. With a bad right knee making it hard to train, John wasn’t in as good a shape as he usually is. As for me, well, I’ve never been a strong hiker, and my sedentary bookselling lifestyle isn’t helping matters. Whatever. We shouldered our backpacks and did the 46 miles in 5 days. Not bad for a couple of 60-somethings.

While we were on the trail, about a hundred northbound thru-hikers in great shape blew past us with little effort – a few of them being our age. That psyched us out. We kept telling ourselves that for every thru-hiker whizzing by, another ten had left the trail between here and Georgia. Still we huffed and puffed uphill, grimaced at our joint pains going downhill, and sweated all day long wondering why we had let our bodies go. It’s hard, sometimes, to keep from comparing yourself to others.

The weather was great for the most part. The bugs weren’t bad, and the wild, forested landscape was just as beautiful as ever. I thoroughly enjoyed being out there hiking hard for a change, and I’m sure John also enjoyed the trek. But it would have been an even more enjoyable outing if we had been in better shape. Ah, well…

John will be back, I’m sure. He has hiked three-fourths of the AT so far, and is not the kind of guy to be satisfied with that. He still has the better part of New Hampshire’s White Mountains to do, along with most of the Berkshires is western Massachusetts. So he’ll be asking me to join him for another leg, no doubt. I’d better be ready.

 

 

 

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