A Rustling in the Sumacs

March 30, 2010.  Tuesday.

Situation:   I wake up about 9, and since Moi stayed overnight at Jazz’s, I have to do all the things she usually would do: make coffee, turn on my computer, feed Squeak, let Mway out.  I check my email and see that I apparently have no work today, so, since Moi is out, I sit down to work in the music room, postponing the morning walk with Mway.  A little after 10, I hear Moi stomping on the porch toward our door; I get up to greet her, listen to all the things she has to say, then, as she goes outside to check on the chickens (a task I neglected to do), I gather my walking clothes together to take Mway out.  I washed my walking socks last night, so they are fresh and clean, and since it’s apparently cold outside I put on my snow suit.  After debating about it for a while, I also strap on my binoculars; I’m wearing my glasses, and the binoculars don’t work ideally with them, but I figure I might as well bring them along.

State of the Path:  The dominant sound outside today is the wind.  Mway dashes up to the chicken cage and scares them back away from the cage door.  The path is about as wet as it was yesterday.  I hear a few birds, but they are not out too much today; the only bird I see is a blue jay as I’m approaching the creek.  Down by the creek, I look for the white flowers I saw yesterday.  Along the path, I see what I think is another skunk cabbage, growing right by the water on the far bank.  Before I come to the area where I saw the flowers yesterday, I find some other really tiny white flowers, and debate for a while whether I should make any kind of effort to identify them.  The flowers are about the size of a gnat, and I consider that they might not be in full bloom or at their peak size, making an identification all the more difficult.  I finally pick a stem, and right away I don’t know how to carry it.  I’m afraid to put it in a pocket for fear of crushing it, so I just carry it along in my gloved hand as best as I can.  Further down the creek, I keep my eyes on the ground looking for the other flowers, peeking up at the trees every now and then to see any birds.  I’m just about ready to give up on finding the flowers, when I see some very little tiny white flowers, in about the right location.  These are probably the ones I saw yesterday, but they look like they haven’t opened up today in the cold weather, so I just pass them by.  I don’t bother taking the side path along the skating pond – I didn’t take the side path along the orchard either.

State of the Creek:  The water is about as high as it was yesterday.  It’s too cold for any water striders in the pool behind the log jam; too cold also for any peepers, and I hear nothing from the pond between the ridge.  As I’m stepping gingerly along the edge of bug land toward the pines and the break in the ridge, trying in vain to avoid the puddled ground to keep my feet dry, and debating every second whether I should just toss the flower specimen I’m carrying, I suddenly hear Mway barking behind the ridge, then a rustling of bodies in the weeds. I hurry through the break in the ridge.  Up one of the sumac trees on the ridge scoots a big raccoon, with Mway at its tail.  The raccoon quickly climbs high enough to be out of Mway’s reach.  I stand there, not knowing what to do or say, as the raccoon hangs onto the skinny tree and Mway looks back and forth between me and it.  Eventually I turn around and just continue walking, and Mway soon follows, rushing up to the clearing ahead of me.

The Fetch:  Up at the clearing, I don’t know what to do with my flower specimen, so I just set it on the ground, and in the course of tossing the stick soon lose sight of where I put it.  As Mway is fetching the stick, I marvel at her discovery of the raccoon, and wonder whether it just came out of a winter’s sleep for Mway to suddenly come across it on one of our walks.  And I also wonder what it will do now, whether its habitat has been irreparably disturbed and it will now wander someplace else to live, or whether it will try to stay here at its hole or whatever on the ridge, with the possibility that its life will everyday be threatened by a dog.   Just now I’ve looked in the encyclopedia:  it says that raccoons “in good habitats” (whatever that means) may roam up to 10 miles.  So this raccoon tomorrow could be long gone from where Mway found it today.  A few years back, one evening, I came into the driveway to see a huge raccoon standing at our back door, its snout in the air, looking just like a dog pawing at the door to be let in.

Addendum:  I take Mway out for her second walk, around 3:45 pm.  I don’t bother to bring any binoculars; I hike at a fast stride (as fast I can, given that I have to meander around puddles, mud, and soggy ground) on the main path down to the creek and back.  Mway, however, doesn’t go all the way to the creek.  At Moi’s old wigwam, she wanders up onto the ridge around bug land, and starts sniffing in the sumacs, at dead leaves and roots.  After I’ve walked the length of the path along the creek, then up along the ridge around bug land, we come together at the break in the ridge.  Mway gives me a nod with her body, then prances off up the path to wait for my arrival at the clearing.