Botanical
Up the creek early, before the sun, the tourists still asleep after tearing it up.
Osprey
The river is full reaching almost to the top of the banks. Flowing quickly to the north. Catching the red willows, straight as arrows, flicking them forward until the spring back in a gracious whip. Green mud that mixes perfectly with the sky. Colours you only see at this time of year. A calendar without dates only sounds, bird calls, trickles and thunder. Smells like heat and moisture, the service berry ripening, some call Saskatoons, sweet, and the river running with high country snow and last nights rain.
The osprey doesn’t recognize me. It leaves its nest and circles above. Sizing, evaluating threat. I try to let it know we are old friends, but feel its distrust.
So often they would follow above as I walked the paths of bush to the lake. Back then it watched as my mind was on fish, railroad tracks, the spring in poplars, the wind putting a ripple on the water, just enough to obscure the weeds and fish swishing shadows, languid almost undetectable during calm, as I wondered how they saw their prey during a storm with a chop on the lake. Other than that I was oblivious most of the time, happy to roam the shore. A whistle would make me turn skyward or to a snag then back above to the railway and someone approaching. My signal to move along, to avoid the day being interrupted by the crudeness of conversation or worse, a scolding or beating. Once further down the shore or back under the canopy of bush the osprey would have followed. But I didn’t keep track back then.
The mosquitoes had me. Lifting me among the clouds. They buzz in my ears and around my nose, I shut my eyes and try not to swat, in case I am to fall from such a height. Above the river I can’t see the fish through the summer murk. The osprey still holds me in its eye, assessing, wary. Its wingspan and hooked beak, turbulent, knowing honour can put it at risk. I hope it can see through the chop on the surface, through time and hurt, even if I can’t.
Wet
Lisa makes me keep my boots outside. She says they stink. Sometimes she makes me put a blanket over my socked feet when I am sitting inside for the same reason. If I let her have her way the socks have to live outside as well.
We have been getting some rain lately. On the weekend I failed to move my good boots into a sheltered area outside and they got rained on soaking them thoroughly during the night.
I had to wear on old pair of boots that had holes in them. My feet got soaked on my weekend hikes with Willow. Lisa didn’t seem to be sympathetic to the problem. Meanwhile my good boots still aren’t dry 3 days later and my feet keep getting wet in my old boots.
I realize these aren’t much for problems in this day and age. I’m just happy Lisa thinks it is the socks and boots that stink. If she ever figures out who the real stinker is I’ll be locked outside in the rain.
Scatter
Noticed a big waning gibbous moon a couple mornings ago. It stayed well into light, hanging around till damn near noon. I used to be up on these things. Moons, birds, when the orchids would bloom to the day. Now it is lucky to get out.
It could be age taking the energy, or the job. Can’t work like I used to. It takes a bit to recuperate. No sense bitching. It’s not my invention. There is only bone on my shoulders these days and it ain’t coming back.
Good sense cackling in fury and ranker, or high in spirit like the Redwings in the marshes dashing between the cattails, leading hither and yon, it is hard to tell, regardless there it goes, fluttering jumping in the breeze getting smaller between clouds of mosquitos, still a marvel, one day gone for good.
Calypso Bulbosa
Like the old saying, been up to my ass in alligators. Was able to step away from the grind a few evenings ago to lay on my belly on the forest floor and study the first orchids of the season.
They were abundant, small fairies hovering above the moss and crumbled deadfalls.
***
Lisa and I took our grandkids for a walk in the bush today. We unfortunately came across the carcass of a black bear, shot and skinned. The kids didn’t see it and we changed our route.
They are in season right now. I am amazed there are any bears left considering the pressure from hunting and poaching. Parts of the bear are valued in traditional Chinese medicine. The gall bladder, liver, testicles, fur, paws and head are highly valued.
I have found dead bears cut open with head and paws missing.
***
It is warming up. The grass is already burning. The garden is coming along with the weeds. The garlic has scapes and they are damn spicy!
Geomagnetic Storm
A dazzling display of aurora a few nights ago. Willow and I headed north and stopped on the mile hill overlooking Radium Hot Springs. Knowing they can stop as quick as they start we kept going towards darker skies.
These Northern Lights were caused by activity on the surface of the sun. This coronal mass ejection struck Earth’s magnetic field and lit up the sky. It should have been a dark night, but Willow and I were able to walk around like it was a full moon.
By 3:30 the aurora borealis pulled way back and I could tell dawn was on the horizon. I forget how early morning breaks when the days are long. The longest days don’t even permit a fully dark night.
It was good to get out.
Garden Planted
Damn it feels good to have a few days off. The rest of the garden is planted. The tomatoes started in the basement are on their own and look healthy. They looked happy to be planted. Of course we had a short windstorm today that knocked them around. It’s up to them now.
We’ll see if anything comes up. The birds are enjoying the sprinkler as it has been dry with not a lot of runoff due to low snowpack in the mountains.
***
The other day Lisa thought she heard something in the basement. She was right, it was a scratching and banging in the stove pipe. I opened up the pipe and nothing. I checked the chimney and stove, still nothing.
That night the banging and scratching started back up. Willow did her job letting us know of potential intruders. We didn’t get much sleep.
In the morning I took it all apart again and nothing. Once I put it all back together the noises resumed.
We went to Cooper’s soccer game. When we came home the noises were still coming from the pipe but now they were coming from where the pipe joins the stove.
I opened it up and there was an American Flicker, a type of woodpecker hiding in the flume. It must of, somehow flew down the chimney. When I had opened everything up it would go back into the chimney where we couldn’t see it. Once it went down the pipe to the stove it couldn’t get back up.
Lisa opened the basement door. I reached in and gave it a nudge. The Flicker burst into flight and flew across the room and straight out the door.
We couldn’t have been happier. I’m sure the bird felt likewise.
Foraging
A good way to kick a few days off. We went to the Palliser River. There were a few camps of people picking mushrooms, in the area that burned last year.
We picked enough morels for soup and headed through the burn further up the river. Lisa was glad to leave it behind saddened by the burnt areas and clear cut logging. Fires, although devastating, are turning into a huge business for British Columbia. I try to remember the landscape as it was and what it will look like when it heals.
We got beyond it into the Royal Group, cut some firewood and watched the creeks and clouds.
A very fine day!
Thin Moon
A crystal clear morning. Venus came up in the morning dawn. The sun caught the top of the peaks in the west before it rose over the mountains. The thin moon rose just before the sun. It was an old waning 6%. Due to its thinness and the morning light it was hard to see. I needed the binoculars to spot it at first. A Robin came and sat close to me and a heard of young Bighorn Sheep ran, about 50 yards in front of me. The way they were going I expected to see something like a coyote or cougar on their heels, but nothing. Something riled them however. The river is still clear and runs slow beside the tracks. Not long now the wetlands will be full. Next moon probably. Very fine morning.
The Miracle
Sometimes when you feel bad the best you can do is put one foot in front of the other and count it as a victory and let that small little victory lead to a little bigger one. The world often doesn’t see you the way you see the world. The world won’t see you hurt if you keep putting up small victories. Even if that’s only one foot in front of the other.
Sometimes you may climb out of bed and think I don’t think I can do it. But you laugh knowing you’ve felt that way before. And you put one foot in front. And you look for those little miracles along the way. That squirrel on the line catching Pedley’s eye. The way her fur rises on her shoulders as she turns to attention.
The commute, earbuds with Above and Beyond, that’s something, that drop after meandering through an electronic corridor, then a slow rise, getting faster with one door opening after another into brighter colours.
Into work, like so many, but it’s not just a job, it’s to help others with the same hollowness that was nagging you earlier. It’s the realization we are so alike and different. Things are both terrifying and beautiful. And you put another foot forward and you count another victory and you hold a hand out and pull another like you up. And you put another foot forward. Soon the slow days, the hard days and the good days all become miracles.
Palliser Pass 