Please register to participate in our discussions with 2 million other members - it's free and quick! Some forums can only be seen by registered members. After you create your account, you'll be able to customize options and access all our 15,000 new posts/day with fewer ads.
(Still waiting to see a Condor there. That's on my bucket list of hopes.)
The Sespe Condor Sanctuary is less than 20 miles north of Casa Nighteyes as the California Condor flys; it is considerably farther by road. On several occasions I have seen what I believed to be one or more of them soaring in the extreme distance. Still waiting for one to get close enough that I can make a positive identification through my binoculars.
The recent series of posts got me to thinking of something I started writing in the early 1990's, and have occasionally touched-up ever since. Just had to share it with you. In fact I might have already done so, several years back. If so, my apologies. Please know in advance that, as the story progresses I begin using many nouns as proper names (e.g. Mouse, Sun).
Official Gobbledygook: Please know that this is my work; I copyrighted it beginning with the first draft, and have renewed/updated my copyright with every revision. I continue to reserve all rights.
=============================================
GOING HOME
Dawn breaks over the eastern horizon. I pause to greet the Sun, then climb into my pickup and begin my commute. Like a canoeist on the bank of a wild and turbulent river, I gauge my timing carefully before plunging into the streaming traffic. Cars, trucks, semis and buses, closely packed and five abreast, surge along the freeway. I am caught up in the current, working my way gradually, carefully, into the center of the flow.
My eyes watch the swirls and eddies ahead, my hands make gentle corrections to my course, but my mind is free. Through the week I toil and sweat to earn my pay to buy my bread. But not today. Today is different. Today I'm going home.
My pulse quickens and my anticipation grows. I think of the items beside me on the seat:
Knife, very sharp and riding comfortably in its sheath. Flint, dark and cold but holding the secret of fire. Blanket, frayed and tattered, but warm. Poncho, to shelter from wind and rain. Food and cord, so that Nature will not be diminished by my passage. Aspirin, a concession to my aging bones and joints. Coffee, a concession to my remaining addiction. Hiking boots, a concession to my soft city feet. Emergency kit, a concession to Murphy's Law. Water filter and canteen: a sorrowful concession that some joys are gone forever.
From freeway to highway to county road, from concrete to blacktop to gravel, and finally to dirt. The roadway narrows to a rutted wagon-track before it disappears altogether. As far as the eye can see, there is nothing but wilderness. My commute is over. I've come home.
Hawk soars on widespread wings as I lace my boots – wheels and stoops as I take my last sip of fast-food coffee – climbs skyward again, prey in talons, as I shoulder my pack. Sun is halfway up the morning sky. I place him at my right shoulder and begin walking.
At first my feet are clumsy and uncertain, my breathing fast and ragged. The land ahead seems too wild, too rugged. An inner voice expresses doubt : You cannot do this... it has been too long... you have grown old and weak... turn back. But I do not listen, and soon it is still. My steps regain their old sureness, and my breathing evens out.
I walk the contours of the land, occasionally angling up and over a ridge. I am in no hurry and there is much to see. There you are, Rabbit, peering out from beneath the sagebrush. You think you are hidden, but your inquisitive, twitching nose gives you away. Be glad I am not Coyote.
I pause in the shade of a wind-sculpted juniper, drink from my canteen and read the messages in the dirt. Rabbit has been here, too, as has Coyote. Many birds have feasted on seeds and insects. Mouse's tracks lead to her burrow, and Rattlesnake shed his skin on that rock over there. Bear shambled through, stomach empty and temper short, just after the snow melted off.
It is good to be home! For the first time in years, I am free from schedules and deadlines. In this place, time is measured by Sun and Moon and season, and not by the relentless ticking of the clock. Gone from my ears are the sounds of telephones, traffic and sirens. Gone too is the crow-like clamor of insistent but heedless people. Gone from my nose is the stink of diesel-smoke, smog, and urine-drenched alleys. My eyes are no longer assaulted by neon scribblings or bit-mapped warnings.
There! In the distance, Deer stands poised, eyes darting, ears swiveling, nose testing the wind. Motionless, I watch as he lowers his head, then count silently until he looks up. He resumes grazing, and I begin circling downwind. Before he looks again, I assume the stillness of a lightning-struck snag. Move, count, freeze, make no sound, feel the wind. Eagle screams high above, her voice almost lost in the vastness of the sky.
I am so close I can smell him, can hear his breathing, the ripping of the grass as he fills his mouth. He is weary and hungry, for he has run very far, but still he is uneasy. He senses my nearness, and his head stays up much longer. His beauty so fills me with joy that I cannot help but laugh, the sound very loud in the momentary stillness of the wind. Deer bounds away, his curving leaps long and graceful, until he is out of sight.
In other days and other times, Deer, you would have fed me. Your hide and sinews would have protected me and kept me warm, your bones and antlers providing my tools. But not today. Today your wildness and beauty satisfy another hunger, meet other needs. Nan aiya. Be at peace. I will remember you.
Sun is high overhead. I eat and rest among trees in the bottom of a draw. A trickle of water flows here. Mindful of the pollution of Man, I filter it into my canteen. It is cold, and tastes pretty good, but it is not the same. Stretching out on a bed of fallen needles and leaves, I listen to the whispering counsel of the mountain breeze.
I awaken to the rattling croak of Raven as he eyes me from the safety of a high branch. Sun is well along his afternoon journey. It is time to move on.
Crossing a ridge, I gaze down into a broad valley. A stream twinkles as it makes its tumbling, weaving way through massive boulders, their shoulders rounded and smoothed by the ages. Trees crowd the banks, sipping life through their roots. Cottonwoods crown a low knoll. Glancing at Sun once again, I decide. Yes, I will go there, gather wood, and settle down for the night.
I move more swiftly now. My way is blocked by a sheer drop, and I scout along its edge to find a way down. There. A narrow, steep-walled rift that angles down like a time-worn ramp. Its floor, deep in shadow, is strewn with rocks. The layered bedrock on either side, fractured long ago as Mother Earth heaved and trembled in mountainbirth, resembles the walls of a forgotten city. Niches and caves appear as windows and doors, while hardy plants cling to the crevices. This is a spirit-place, and my backbone tingles uncomfortably. My nose wrinkles in recognition that Skunk was frightened here, too.
The stream chuckles and calls out to me as I reach the valley floor. I enter the grove just as Sun hides his face behind the western mountains. Dove and Whippoorwill mourn the end of the day. I must work quickly.
I use my knife to coax sparks from the flint, blowing gently on them until the tinder catches. Soon the small fire crackles, lighting and warming my camp. The food is filling, and the coffee tastes good. The night air is cool, and so clear that I can see forever. Stars are everywhere. Moon begins peeking over the horizon.
Owl glides silently overhead, breast and wings briefly shimmering in the light of the fire. She is a big one. Beware, Rabbit. Take heed, Mouse.
I make my bed on the moon-dappled ground, pulling the blanket snugly around me. Coyote calls, and far away, another answers.
The Sespe Condor Sanctuary is less than 20 miles north of Casa Nighteyes as the California Condor flys; it is considerably farther by road. On several occasions I have seen what I believed to be one or more of them soaring in the extreme distance. Still waiting for one to get close enough that I can make a positive identification through my binoculars.
All of this talk of Bald Eagles reminds me of the places I used to live on the East Coast,I lived not too far from a place called the Patuxent Wildlife Preserve and it was known for bringing the Bald Eagle back from near extinction, we used to see the immature Bald Eagles quite often, see I lived in this place in the state of Maryland along the Chesapeake Bay and its tributaries and had many places were Bald Eagles were nesting,a couple of places in particular was along the Potomac River. A buddy of mine owns about 12 acres of land on the lower end of the Potomac River and we used to see the nesting eagles quite often, they are a beautiful bird when their fishing and sometimes it can be pretty funny watching the immature ones trying to catch fish on the river, for those of you who don't know, a bald eagle does not get its white feathers until it is about five years old, so as an immature bird, it's all black and sometimes mistaken for another kind of bird, anyway one day my buddy and I were out fishing on the Potomac River, we were about mid way out in the river and watching the Eagles fly overhead, when one immature Eagle dove down to get a fish, well it hit the water pretty hard and it did catch the fish but it only had it by one talon and did not have a very good grip on it. I was watching that Eagle because it wasn't too far from us, the fish was wiggling around as the eagle was trying to get up off the water and it got about 20 feet up when he lost the fish,it hit the water with a loud smack, I told my buddy to steer the boat over to where the fish had hit the water and I reached over the side of the boat with a dip net and pulled up a very large 5 pound Largemouth Bass and didn't even have to put a line in the water....... my buddy said.. I don't believe you did that and I told him, that Eagle lost it and I got it... And I must say that Largemouth Bass tasted pretty good at dinnertime......you know, living in the Appalachian Mountains there's a couple things that I do miss and that's the excellent fishing in the Chesapeake Bay and the sound of the large flocks of geese as they migrate.
"The sound of the large flocks of geese as they migrate."
Yep, I miss the sound too. What I don't miss is the necessity of navigating around innumerable goose-poops on the golf courses and playing fields. Here in SoCal the Canada geese light on the fairways & playing fields at daylight and feed on the grass-seeds and insects until they're run off by the golfers/players. There's even an occasional goose-vs-human combat. Generally, my money's on the goose!
Of course, being normal and natural Canada Geese, they lighten their loads from the moment of their landing until the moment of their take-off. I mean -- there is fertilizer, and then there are organic land-mines...
Remind me to tell y'all sometime about the Canada Goose that knocked my ex-brother-in-law -- ass-pirations over appetite -- down the reverse slope of the earthen dam that held his stock-pond...
"The sound of the large flocks of geese as they migrate."
I have such mixed feelings about geese...........
I like them smoked low and slow over a warm fire that rends out the gallons of fat they carry. Very tasty and with good squash and corn side dishes, one the the great comfort meals.
Geese mate for a lifetime although if a mate is killed or dies, they will find a new one. We had a pair of mated geese running around the place here and when one got taken by a coyote the other walked around calling and calling and calling for its mate. I felt so sorry for it......one of the most heart wrenching sounds is a goose seeking its mate........So I now have regrets when I think of shooting one.......
Why don't they migrate any more? We have Canadians around ponds here year round. I recall Brian Keith in a Disney movie called "Those Calloways" where they are trying to build a Canadian goose sanctuary in New England.......he thought they would need a place to hang out on their migratory journey. I don't mind them migrating, passing over head, I just don't like them moving in and staying........
Good morning. After reading all the usual arguing and bickering and discontent on these threads I'm happy to be able to come here. I wish everyone in the Circle a wonderful day. Be well. Enjoy the day.
Good morning. After reading all the usual arguing and bickering and miscontent on these threads I'm happy to be able to come here. I wish everyone in the Circle a wonderful day. Be well. Enjoy the day.
Wado..
Please register to post and access all features of our very popular forum. It is free and quick. Over $68,000 in prizes has already been given out to active posters on our forum. Additional giveaways are planned.
Detailed information about all U.S. cities, counties, and zip codes on our site: City-data.com.
Please register to participate in our discussions with 2 million other members - it's free and quick! Some forums can only be seen by registered members. After you create your account, you'll be able to customize options and access all our 15,000 new posts/day with fewer ads.
"Going Home"
