On this Day of Earth,
Look close and pay attention,
To our Blue Marble.
A walk around the scrub on a hot and breezy spring ish morning can provide for a number of unique experiences. One day, you’ll see wood ducks fly from a roost with no water anywhere in sight, retaking their names at the expense of their future. Another day, you’ll see a bear rush from one narrowing dense patch to the next, wondering why there’s suddenly so many gaps in his home. A different day yet, you’ll see bees and beatles frantically trying to flit from one plant to the next, racing the inevitable clock that ticks in all our lives, demanding us to move faster before time runs on too long.
Today was a bit of all of those days. But mostly, there were just flowers.
Amazing things happen when one slows down.
The task assigned to me at work yesterday was a fairly simple one. All I had to do was go out to the Reserve, make my way past noisy cows and through what seemed like a thousand gates to a groundwater well, take a few measurements, drive to the next well, and repeat roughly 30 times. This can be done either very quickly, rushing between points and racing the clock to get out of the heat and sun as fast as possible, or it can be done in a slightly more casual manner, pausing to enjoy the little moments and to live in the present. Yesterday, I chose to do the latter, and was greatly rewarded for doing so.
My vehicle for this task was not quiet. The big swamp buggy needed to effectively traverse the muddy cattle pastures is a lumbering behemoth named Shela that tends to scare away, rather than attract, wildlife. Except yesterday. As I drove up to one of the wells, I noticed two tan blobs off in the distance. I eased the buggy closer, going as slowly and as quietly as I could, hoping not to disturb the furry shapes. To my astonishment, they seemed pretty at ease with the noise and kept right on eating with their heads and tails happily down. Instead of rushing off and passing the moment, I parked Shela near the well, grabbed my camera, hopped down, and made my way closer on foot.
The deer on the Reserve are pretty lucky. There is little to no hunting that goes on out there, very few big predators, and a ton of space in which to roam and eat and be merry. They don’t see people very often, I’m generally the only idiot that wanders around out there on any given day, so I guess that makes them either very complacent, very curious, or both. As I walked closer to the pair, their tails swishing away contentedly and my camera clicking away equally contentedly, I assumed that at some point they would notice me and bolt. Well, they noticed, but didn’t bolt.
I’m going to call this one Notch, as he or she is missing a little chunk of the left ear. Instead of sticking with the other, Notch chose to walk quite a distance alone towards me, the approaching idiot human, sniffing and head tilting the whole way. If I had had some food, I think Notch would have taken it out of my hand. I don’t really know why Notch chose to do this, to investigate instead of run, but I am ever so grateful for the experience.
This kind of slow connection, one that can’t happen at 20 mph, is what makes any particular day a good day. Sometimes, one just needs to sit in the middle of a field, and wait to see what happens.
Goodbye, Notch, and thanks.
what Was, what Is, and what Will Be 