I rarely need to be defensive. And I'm never on the offense. Generally, people, things and events come and go through my life without any altercations.
I went back to one of my favorite fish camps the last week of July. It's a wonderful place just south of Hearst, Ontario where, as always, the Walleye and Northern Pike fishing is outstanding.
About day three, Sam, the camp owner, and I decided to fish a small lake that had a reputation for BIG pike. We beached our boat and motor and walked the short portage over the dried creek bed to this lake. Someone had left a small 12-foot fishing boat on the other side. Great! All we had to do was go back and grab oars, tackle and rods. There would be no hard work dragging boat and motor over the portage this day. There was only one dilemma. We quickly discovered we did not have oars but paddles instead. Now paddling a fishing boat is doable, if the winds are not too strong, but it's not nearly as easy as rowing. We decided to go anyway.
Although the wind was not strong, we laughed hard at ourselves as we tried to figure out how to paddle a fishing boat. Mostly we went in circles with Sam paddling in the front of the boat and me in the back. I'm too embarrassed to tell you how long it took us to figure out we could move forward, and even backward, when we both sat on the middle seat, each paddling on a side. We brought ourselves to tears laughing at our incompetence and how long it took us to discover such a simple system.
About 4:00 p.m. we decided to head back to the portage, hike to our boat and motor, and get back to camp in plenty of time for a nice fish diner. About 75 feet from the portage, I spotted something dark moving in the water and pointed it out to Sam. It looked like it could be a very large beaver. Or,……the head of a bear! As the bear emerged from the water, we were surprised to see a 350-400 pound black bear with water shining and dripping off his dark, black coat.
But the awe turned to confusion when he plopped down right on the edge of our portage trail. We knew he had seen and scented us. But he just didn't seem to care. So we yelled and banged our now trusty paddles on the side of the boat. This didn't seem to discourage him one bit. What to do?
Our first line of defense was to enjoy the sight while eating all the trail mix. No sense in tempting Smokey with peanuts, sunflower seeds, raisins and M & M’s. We finished the trial mix but he was still there. Our second line of defense was to throw back the fish we had caught. Yes, they survived. Dinner was looking more and more like beans and rice and the bear looked like he was thinking about a nap. Our third Line of defense was to wash off that sweet smelling Banana Boat sunscreen. I just didn't want to smell that good once my feet hit dry ground.
And then we approached ever so cautiously with our new and improved paddling system. About 25 feet from the portage, just when we were thinking we might practice backing up, Mr. Bear decided he'd had enough and ambled into the bush.
Adrenaline got us back to our boat and motor in record time. Beans and rice was actually starting to sound good.
What would have happened to our fishing expedition if we'd had foresight and thought about the possibility of a bear blocking our path? At the extreme, we would not have portaged into this lovely lake at all. We would have missed the beauty, the outstanding fishing and our chance to be silly with paddles. At the least, our fishing day would have been clouded with thoughts of looming peril.
So was this something we should have prepared for? Maybe. But a life full of preparation for situations that are yet only imagined is not much of a life at all. I'm choosing to keep my guard down, come what may.
" Everything of value is defenseless." ~Lucebert
By mid summer, you can often find me plopped in a chair in the creek with a good book. In July the mosquitoes seem to back off. Perhaps that's because they are ending their breeding season. More likely it's because the air at the creek is a swarm of dragonflies and damselflies, iridescent creatures fluttering around my head and occasionally landing on me. They seem to appreciate me as much as I enjoy them. I've learned to love these voracious meat eaters not only for their beauty, but their ability to spot their favorite prey, mosquitoes, from as far away as 40 yards and fly in for the kill at speeds up to 30 miles an hour. They appreciate me, I believe, for my ability to attract their quarry.
My attention is frequently drawn from the book to the water swirling around my legs and what lies beneath. There are treasures at my feet. Beautiful stones in various shades of red, green yellow, brown and white. Like gems, they sit on the creek bed tempting me. So clear, so vibrant, magnified in both size and color by the water that flows over them.
Styx, my big lab, joins me to roam the banks and lay in the deep pools when his black coat has soaked up more heat then he can stand. Jersey, my chocolate lab, has become a frog dog. Several years ago she discovered that by walking the edge of the creek, she could stir up frogs that would make a mad dash for the safety of deeper water. A few times, only a few, she has caught a frog. I'm always startled when she returns to me and spits a confused frog into my lap. Probably not more startled than the frog. There it sits, often for as much as 10 seconds, Jersey and I watching intently, knowing any moment it will figure out which way is up and take a wild, long leap back to the creek. Then I resume my reading and Jersey resumes the hunt.
On Sunday, my friends Don and Maggie joined me in the creek. It was Maggie who observed another lesson from the creek. She marveled at the beautiful stones on the creek bottom, wanting to see each one more closely. And yet each time she reached for a particularly beautiful stone, her hand would cause the flowing creek water to blur her visibility, coming up with not the stone she was seeking but another in its stead. Those times that she was lucky to find her target, the beauty of the gem she had sought often faded when it left the water. So as we prepared to climb the bank and return to the campfire that had softened to embers, ready to roast our dinner, Maggie gave back to the creek all but one of the stones she had successfully collected, pointing out that they belonged there. Pointing out that our beauty is very much about the environment in which we are seen.
Choose your environment well. Make it a reflection of you. Create the environment that nurtures you. The dragonflies and damselflies will tell you that life can be too short when you settle for less than that environment that reflects you at your best.
"A man is rich in proportion to the number of things he can let alone." ~ Henry David Thoreau
I just returned from my annual May fishing frenzy in the Northern Ontario bush. These 10 days kicked off the 2005 fishing season for me. And I'm headed back up for a long weekend next Thursday through Monday. Yikes! I've got to start packing!
It's morel mushroom season. I'm a bit of a fanatic about hunting the elusive morel. My friends know I'm pretty much unavailable during the season of the “shrooms” unless they want to hike with me in the woods from sunup to sundown.
It's early in the season and the weather has been cold. So last Saturday I chose a stand of woods that produces morels earlier than most. I had some success. But the ground was very, very dry. So I moved on to a place where the hardwoods grow right down to a cedar swamp. I was hoping that the close proximity to the swamp would mean the ground was a little moister.
That's where I hit the “mother lode.” Morels everywhere! And the closer I got to where the hardwoods met the swamp, the better the picking. At one point, as I was bending to pick a morel, I looked up and could see something large moving around in the swamp. Living up to my reputation as a wandering woman, I set my morel bag down, planted my morel stick in the ground, and crept into the swamp.
It was a beautiful cedar swamp, with various shades of green everywhere. Pale green plant shoots were just starting to appear amid the muck. Both the live and down cedar were covered with a deep green moss. The trees were a rich cedar green with pale green tips of new growth on the end of each branch. There was a subtle trickle of water that could easily be heard in the otherwise noiseless swamp. I was struck by the beauty of the sunshine filtering through the cedar trees, bouncing off the water, and creating a shimmering effect on the underside of the cedar boughs. The swamp was dense and dark and light and colorful at the same time. The smell was both rich and pungent and sweet and airy. I’d never before noticed the contradiction within a swamp.
A few feet further into the swamp, I could see a black bear. Bears are not rare in Northern Michigan, but sightings are. Mostly I feel rewarded if I see signs of a bear or the occasional glimpse of the back end of one moving away from me. I wanted to get a little closer. Fortunately a few moss-covered logs allowed me to crawl quietly into the root system of a down cedar tree with a minimum amount of muck. Like all the others, this tree was covered with moss. It made a delightful seat and I settled in.
I watched this bear for no more than 5 minutes when I heard a sound off to my left. A second bear was coming into the area. Within another 5 minutes, I heard a sound to my right and bear number three was approaching. This was the point where I stopped patting myself on the back for my great find and opportunity and started wondering just what I’d gotten myself into. I was not in a good position to leave. I was at that point surrounded by bears on three sides. And my departure would not have been swift given my awkward perch.
So I surrendered to enjoying my predicament. I watched these bears turn over logs and dig in the muck for whatever had attracted them to this spot. One climbed a tree for what seem to me to be purely sport, up and back down swiftly. There were a couple of small confrontations over whatever it was they were feasting on. Two or three times they lifted their noses to the air and rocked from one front paw to the other. I was sure I’d been discovered. But each time they settled down and went back to their banquet.
It was an hour and a half before the trio had wandered to one side of me and my exit was open. I tried to stand up, only to find my legs would not work. And that's when I apparently got too noisy and the show was over. In a matter of seconds all three had disappeared into the deepening swamp. I'm always amazed at how quickly wildlife can go from seen to invisible with only a step or two.
Now good advice might be that when you find yourself on the edge of the muck, don't go further in. But sometimes being stuck in the muck is a rewarding experience. After my mushroom bonanza, I was in just the right mood to really see the beauty in the mucky mess in front of me and the bear sighting as an opportunity. Doesn't it always seem to happen that way? Once we start riding high on one delightful experience the next experience is delivered. And our only role is to notice and surf from one attraction to the next.
"Come to the edge," He said. They said, "We are afraid." "Come to the edge," He said. They came. He pushed them... and they flew. ~Guillaume Apollinaire
I started to write about Spring Fever because that's what I thought I was experiencing. But a quick trip to my dictionary and quite a bit of contemplation I've shifted my opinion of my symptoms. I think what I had was “Spring Frenzy.” With this clarity, I was more open to this week's insight and lesson.
I've discovered that for most of us in the Northern Hemisphere, Spring Fever has passed. Spring Fever is really that feeling of languor, listlessness, lethargy and yearning brought on by the nearness of spring not yet here. It's itchy and uncomfortable. Now it's April and fever has given way to frenzy. With each day, the pulse of spring breathes new life and makes everything look and feel packed full of possibility. So much possibility we feel we must take action.
A short walk along the creek is enough evidence that I'm not the only one with Spring Frenzy. Most of the wildlife is very busy indeed, emerging from their holes, crevices, and burrows for food and frolic. The creek is raging. The buds are out. The sap is running. The pin oaks are finally dropping their leaves. My jeans are forever mud smudged from cuff to knees. And where is all that dirt under my nails coming from? Daylight is brighter and stretching into evening hours, pushing back the night. I'm urged on to plant, sort and reorganize as busyness blows in on fresh spring breezes. This urge to renew every aspect of my life, and to do it quickly, is Spring Frenzy.
But, what about the renewal of my soul? Just a couple of days ago I saw my first real sign of spring. It was not the stereotypical robin, busily collecting worms and grubs and nest material nor the geese honking and flapping their way north. It was not the squirrels frantically chasing each other around tree trunks. It was not the first blooming crocus or a long ice float cracking and breaking away on the frozen lake. Here in Northern Michigan, I officially mark the coming of spring when I see my first group of men leaning on the bed of a pickup truck parked in the sun. I spotted this rare ritual not far from my home on my way to the grocery store. It was such an uplifting sight that I opted to take the same route home, hoping for a second glimpse. And there they still were. One more had joined the tribe but none had left. And all were pretty much holding the same stance and the same territory of the truck bed that they had assumed when I had driven by a good 45 minutes earlier. I’ll probably never be totally privy to the dynamics of this ritual. In my imagination, these are men, young and old, inspired by spring to make promises that deep down they know they cannot keep and tell stories they know they cannot live up to. If you know differently, please keep it to yourself. It doesn't really matter. My heart always breaks wide open at this sight, knowing that spring is officially here. I can learn from the “pickup guys.”
Prior to the sighting, my frenzy was making me desperate to force myself to live rightly, become fit and healthy, and make lasting changes in myself, my home and my life. After the sighting, I understand I was experiencing Spring Frenzy, that temporary lapse of sanity where getting things done and putting all in order is the only priority. I was gently reminded by the pickup guys to catch myself before I plunged headfirst into so much activity I actually missed spring. I remember now, that renewal of soul is what I’d been wanting from spring. And that too much activity can cause me to lose balance and the ability to relish and savor.
So this Spring, my only to-do list has become this: throw away all other to-do lists; put the hammock up now; sit in a warm patch of sun often; notice; focus only on the activity at hand, not the destination; and, find a pickup truck bed to lean on.
"Sitting quietly, doing nothing, spring comes, and the grass grows by itself." ~A Zen proverb
