0possum

… beauty lies even in humble, perhaps ugly things, and the ideal, which bypasses or improves on nature, may not be truly beautiful in the end.

Albrecht Durer

In the tall unmown grass, the little opossum approached my window.

Snuffling and chewing, he ate while I watched, and a tick nibbled on his ear.

His tiny hand-feet almost danced across the lawn as he wandered back into the woods.

Sometimes small things lead to great joys.

Shmuel Yosef Agnon

I had been home for two days after a long road trip. I was a little tired; a little lonely. I was staring out the window in the early morning, when a movement caught my eye. An animal, larger than a squirrel, but smaller than a cat, appeared from under the hemlocks, sauntering across the back lawn. I couldn’t tell what it was at first. It had a shiny grey coat. It had big, beautiful black eyes. Its head was down, nose to the ground, rear end high and it was lightly stepping through the wet grass. At first, I thought it was a woodchuck, but when it came close, I realized it was an opossum. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one so clearly - but then, I never see them in daylight. Usually, I see their shining eyes in the headlights when I come home at night. They always seem creepy and ugly then, sneaking around in the dark. I didn’t know they did that because they see better at night. I didn’t know much really. I didn’t know they can climb trees, using their tails to help grip the branches or keep them from falling. I didn’t know they are not vulnerable to snake venom, so they can prey on poisonous snakes. I didn’t know they eat many garden pests. I didn’t know their back “feet” are more like hands, with opposable thumbs. I didn’t know what good company they could be to a lonely traveler in the early morning. What a blessing.

If you want to learn more about opossums, click here.

Thank you so much for being here.

And later that day, another blessing…a peaceful moment by the lake as the sun dropped through the scattered clouds.

Being a Wild Thing

Inside all of us is... hope. Inside all of us is... fear. Inside all of us is... adventure. Inside all of us is a wild thing.

Maurice Sendak

Being wild

Overhead

a hawk screams

Fierce and free,

and I think how strong,

how like him

I would like to be –

Untethered by gravity,

flying into the wind -

Fearless-

until one morning

I see the young one

Just leaving the nest,

Eating scraps of meat

On the ground

while owls watch him

from the trees.

A young hawk eating some scraps of meat on the edge of the woods.

My neighbors called me when he came, so I could practice with my new lens

If he lives to be a year, his tail will turn brick red, and then he could live as long as 20 years, sometimes more.

Later that week - A mother deer and her fawn are in my yard almost every day - it breaks my heart when I see them. The mother has a broken leg (hidden behind her head in the picture), and it makes her and the fawn so impossibly vulnerable. She can’t run, and the fawn doesn’t stray far from her.

(The photos have a weird, dreamy quality because I took them through a screened window).

The fawn eating my un-mowed grass.

In the morning, before anyone else comes, it’s just me and the rabbit. While it’s still pretty dark, he eats seeds from under the bird feeder and I drink coffee. I doubt he feels the same sense of camaraderie, but I’m always glad to see him there. As soon as the first squirrels come - he’s gone.

I have need of the sky,

I have business with the grass;

I will up and get me away where the hawk is wheeling

Lone and high,

And the slow clouds go by.

Richard Hovey

In a lifetime where I have never even seen a single hawk on the ground in the wild - within one week - I saw two - in two different towns. Maybe there is a message there. Maybe the message is that I haven’t been paying attention and hawks are everywhere. The two in my pictures are red-tailed hawks, the first one, at the beginning, was a young fledgling who just left its nest and was hanging around in a neighbor’s yard. The second one (at the end) I saw while walking back to my car from the farm market in Saugatuck. (If you’re interested in knowing more about red-tailed hawks, click here.)

The other theme flitting around in my head this week is the vulnerability of life in the wild. All animals, but particularly the ones pictured in this post, are so close to the edge of survival. An inexperienced young hawk in an open area beneath the trees where owls live, a mother deer with a broken leg, and the fawn who needs her protection, a little rabbit who is preyed on by so many animals. I feel for them all, even as I realize that it’s just the way the natural world is. Dangerous and messy, and poignantly beautiful.

Thank you for letting me muse. See you next week.

Finding My Way in Granite Creek and the Grand Tetons

…Let us risk the wildest places, Lest we go down in comfort, and despair.

Mary Oliver (excerpt from the poem, Magellan)

Return

Walking

this wooded path

under the shade of pines

beside the cool river

I know

this is where I’ll return

when I return

to dust.

The Ranger at the Bridger-Teton National Forest told me - “we’re really happy about the wildflowers this year. - you came at a good time.”

A magpie, tussled in the wind, perched on the roof of a shelter where I stopped to eat breakfast and plan the day.

Granite Creek Campground - Bridger-Teton National Forest. The Fortress.

The Falls at Granite Creek.

First view of the Tetons in the Grand Teton National Park.

The smell of pine was everywhere.

A little girl said there were moose at the moose pond, so I went, and there they were, huge, beautiful beasts.

Hidden Falls. Cooling relief after a hot climb.

Gros Ventre Campground. Storms threatened the first night, but passed around the park.

The beginning of a hike to Cascade Canyon.

Hawk protecting his family nest.

On my hike through the canyon, I met a family who generously let me tag along with them so I wouldn’t get eaten by bears - and one of them took this photo of me to send to my family.

Cascade Canyon Trail - Weather started to turn while I hiked back to the trailhead.

A chipmunk at Inspiration Point - a stop back along the trail

Groundhog near the Moose Pond. Think he was startled to see a human in the rain.

What a difference a few hours can make in the weather. Arriving back where I started, the Tetons enveloped in clouds and rain.

Sunset from my campsite.

My last night at the park, another storm rolled through. I woke up in the middle of the night, praying a tree wouldn’t fall on my van. In the morning, although limbs and trees had fallen and the power was out at the park office, all my fellow campers and I were ok.

And that’s how it ends. My last morning in the Grand Tetons.

When I was here, I felt my mortality for so many reasons. Bears, remote and unnavigable roads, lack of cell service, storms. I think that’s why I began to think about where I would want my ashes to be spread after I die. If I could choose anywhere, it would be in the woods somewhere…

The thing is, if I were to die out here - in some beautiful remote place, doing something I love to do, it wouldn’t be the worst thing. Life itself is risky. I would rather take some risk than never dare. What do you think?