Wary of Hunters Again

December 4, 2010.  Saturday. 

Situation:  I wake up later than I have been lately: about 9:40.  Out my office window I see a dusting of snow on the ground, with green grass sticking up through it.  I don’t know if Moi has already taken Mway for a walk or not; she hasn’t gone hunting because she has work this afternoon, then we both work together tonight.  She’s on the phone, maybe talking to Jazz.  Last night she was telling me about the dearth of deer she and Ezra have been seeing and the possible reasons why; probably the main reason is that Ezra had many of his trees timbered and this has disturbed the deer’s habits; there are also the two brothers who own the adjacent farm: one of them likes to hunt and the other one doesn’t, and the one who doesn’t like to hunt has been slaughtering deer so the other one can’t.  Then as Moi says, “Ezra’s starting to think he’s been jinxed because he shot that piebald buck.  He shouldn’t have shot at it because he didn’t have a good shot. The thing was standing twisted and the bullet went through the shoulder.  It ran off, running on three legs just as fast as if it were on four legs.”  But right now, just as Moi is on the main phone, she reports to me that she’s gotten a message on her iPhone, with a picture, showing the buck that Ezra has just shot.  “He shot it down in the hemlocks,” Moi says, “I don’t usually go down there.”  Moi has gotten off the phone, and is now taking a bath – probably a sign that she hasn’t yet taken Mway for a walk.   While I’m waiting for her to finish, I might as well relate the long dream I had this morning:  A friend of mine, who is someone I don’t recognize, wants to go see a new version of Roman Polanski’s The Tenant; he insists we sneek into the movie house, not because we can’t afford the admission but in the spirit of things, but we end up in an adjacent theatre where a different movie is being shown on a small projector and small screen in a room set up with long folding tables and chairs.  A ham and turkey supper is being served by Pennsylvania Dutch women --.  Oh, here’s Moi now: I’ve just asked her if she’s taken Mway for a walk.  She says she hasn’t and warns me that today doe season has opened up.  “I wouldn’t take her for a walk today,” she says, “but, well, I haven’t heard any shots this morning.  If you go out, just be careful.”

State of the Path:  I decide to slip down along the summer house, take the reverse way, bringing with me the thick birch branch I found yesterday in the music room.  A lot of the dusting on the ground has disappeared, but there are light flurries falling around me.  On the path I spot a red perforated top from a can of shaker cheese, and then some yellow pieces of plastic strewn about.  Heading down toward the strawberry patch, I note a lot of red berries on a vast swatch of multiflora shrubs.  I realize that my eyes are attuned to color: and indeed I’m looking around for any signs of orange or red hunter’s garb.  When I get close to the Russian olive, I hear Moi out in the back yard yelling.  She calls out to me, “Sis.  Call Mway.”  Apparently Mway’s still up in the yard, probably chasing chickens.  I call for her, and soon I see her running down the path, a big smile on her face.  Moi calls out to me again (I can’t even see her from where I’m standing).  “Good,” she shouts, “You have your orange cap on.”  I pass through the break in the ridge, keeping my eyes on the field and ridge across from the creek.  I see a hunter's stand up at the edge of the woods on the ridge, but I see no color in it; among the brown weeds in the field are some bright green plants near the top, and I wonder what they are.  As I pass through the “chokeberries,” I recall the deer stand that sits in the oaks on the other side of the creek; I figure, though, that if someone’s in there, I should be able to spot the orange or red through the bare gray branches.  Mway goes over to the feed channel, but then turns around and scoots down along the creek.  I follow.

State of the Creek:  The air’s damp and cold, but with the flecks of snow on the logs along the creek and in a few spots on the ground, it seems cozy, and I take my time walking along the creek, just enjoying the brisk air.  Up ahead, I see Mway bounding across some grassy mounds that jut into the creek, then I see her pick up a big stick in her mouth and start to walk into the water.  What the hell is she going to do with that? I wonder.  She reminds me of a beaver.  But when I get up to where she was, I see that she’s dropped the stick and has continued up along the creek. I reach the tree stand, turn left to go up along bug land.  Up ahead I see Mway running through the maples, with another stick in her mouth.  When I reach where she was, I see it dropped on the ground too.

The Fetch:  In the clearing, Mway is hopping up and down, eager to fetch.  The center of the clearing is a patch of ice, so I stand off to one side.  I pitch the stick in all directions: toward the sumacs, toward a honeysuckle on the other side of the clearing, toward the electric pole, between the “chokeberry” and the honeysuckle, toward the strawberry patch, and even into the goldenrod near Moi’s evergreen plantings.  Everywhere I toss it seems there’s some obstacle, a shrub, where the stick could get stuck in; but this, and making a circle of the tosses, keeps my interest up.  Mway fetches a lot, and even more as we go to level 2.  We don’t quit until finally I start saying “are you done now?” “are you done now?” about five times, and Mway just keeps chomping on the stick that’s rattling between her teeth.