A Mouse in the “House”, Not a Moose on the Loose

 by Lori-Ann Willey

We humans aren't the only ones adapting as the seasons shift -every creature adjusts in its own way. The mice, for instance, seem to find the tiniest crevices to sneak indoors this time of year, which has me constantly on the lookout for any sign of mouse droppings, even just one. Now, while I’m somewhat “famous” for collecting moose poops for my garden’s benefit and, on occasion, arting them into hand-glossed balls, unfortunately, no moose droppings have made their way inside this year. With my garden beds expanding, those earthy moose poops serve a higher purpose outside -enriching the soil instead as an ingredient in an art project.

That said, it wouldn't shock too many people -Paul and family especially, if a moose poop somehow made its way inside in a plastic bag, pocket, or pail either. Collecting dropped winter moose poops is routine for me, especially when they're dry and filled with chewed twigs, pressed into those cute little oval egg shapes. I’ve no issue gathering them when they’re hard (dry) and fibrous, though if they’re soft from rain, I make a mental note to return for them later with a five-gallon pail, you’ll often spot me heading out, on a mission, gloves or no gloves.

But yesterday, as I sat typing a few thoughts about discovering a mouse poop in the back of the silverware drawer, my fingers fumbled. Instead of typing “mouse,” I accidentally wrote “mouce,” and auto-correct, ever so helpful, missed it entirely. As I went back to fix the mistake, Ai decided that “mouse” wasn’t right either and swapped it out for, you guessed it, “moose.” I had to manually change it back to “mouse” before posting. In the end, though, it didn’t matter. It seems like nearly everyone who commented read it as “moose” anyway!

For those who’ve followed us for some time, I imagine there was no doubt in your mind that what you were reading was true. As strange as it sounded, you all know me too well by now, and I must admit, reading the comments, it gave me a good laugh, too. But just to set the record straight, it was a mouse in the “house”, not a moose on the loose!  Though I have no sense of smell to confirm or deny, all moose poops are “earthy”.   Mouse poops, however, no scent to me, are still “shitty”.   I blame no one for reading my post as Moose Poops.  As a matter of fact, I thank you.  The mouse caught in the live-trap….probably not so much...or maybe so?

"I am what I am and I be who I be", and at our Willey's Dam Camp is where I always want to be.

Inspired by Nature

by Lori-Ann Willey 

Though it feels like I’m always writing in my head—formulating thoughts, brainstorming, and endlessly refining  -I have to admit, I’ve fallen behind when it comes to actually putting pen to paper or fingers to keyboard. The stories I create, especially those for children, often loosely stem from my own experiences, though they come in bits and pieces. Like any storyteller, I’ll add here, trim away there, or combine experiences together, all while influencing each of my characters. But it wasn’t until adulthood that I realized how many of those stories I’ve kept to myself, never written down, never shared.

When I think back, much of this started during the countless walks I took through the woods with my family, my sisters, or by myself.  Sometimes we walked with a purpose, sometimes just to wander just as I do today. I have my father to thank for my keen attention to detail. He taught me to be watchful, quizzing me on the things he thought maybe went unnoticed -the snap of a twig, the scatter of leaves, the faint trace of a deer’s path.  Sometimes, it was nothing more than a question, ‘What kind of tree did we pass 10 steps back?’ Mostly, we walked in silence -“Quiet as a mouse”. My mother walked with the same kind of quietness, though her occasional grunt of irritation when a stray branch slapped her face would break the stillness was something I’d come to expect, and almost waited for each time.  She’d always turn to remind us not to follow so closely unless we wanted limbs to slap us in the face, too.

Whether with my parents or my sisters, or simply enjoying a quiet walk through the woods alone were thoroughly enjoyed just as much then as now.  When alone, I walked slower, was more observant, and learned at a different pace.  If I had a question, there was no one to ask, so I tried to find the answers myself.  I pondered a lot just as I do now.  Thankfully, I had parents who gave me an education in nature, and the more I learned, the more I understood that it was nature itself that taught me the rest.

Even now, each time I step into the woods, I absorb it all as if it could be my last walk. I want to remember every detail -every track in the dirt, every branch that’s fallen, and the lifetime of every leaf bud grown to its death.  Like me, we each have a story.   I follow the steps of animals, notice the angle of the limbs, and look up to see what caused their fall. There’s a great sense of peace in these observations, and sometimes I catch myself smiling, heart warmed, much like the peacefulness of a sleeping child. My connection with nature is something I struggle to put into words -it runs deep, sometimes too deep to describe as if my heart selfishly holds it captive just for me.  I'm a bit sentimental that way.

Though I’ve taken a break from writing on paper or typing upon this keyboard, my mind never truly stops writing -all the stories I’ve “written” and memories I could tell.  Every walk, every detail is stored in such a way, waiting for the moment I sit down again and share with someone aside from myself. And when I do, those stored moments help me write with such crisp details that I can relive as I type.

Winter is near.  It's time to start writing again.

Katahdin Sunrise & Coffee

2024 by Lori-Ann Willey

This morning, I reheated my coffee before stepping outside into the fresh, cool morning air. Instead of settling on the deck, coffee in hand, I wandered down to the dock. I sat facing the mountain, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, with my back resting against the frame of a solar panel. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was manageable. Though there was no steam rising from the water today, clouds gathered at the peak of Mt. Katahdin, draping the entire landscape in which she sits -bold, powerful, and rugged. The layer of clouds blocked the sun, casting her in a slate hue, with all its darker shades.

While she sat still, the clouds did not. They moved constantly, somewhat puffy and hovering, as if hiding something up there. Her outline was obscured, restless clouds traveling along her length. I imagined Pamola coming to life. Often, I like to observe nature as if I had no knowledge of science or history. I let my mind wander, pushing aside the facts that prove folklore to be just that—folklore. And still, I allow myself to create stories from what I see. In those moments, I feel like "early man", maybe even one of my ancestors.  What did they think of clouds? What stories did they tell to explain the unknown? Without science or history, the mind weaves imaginary tales.

This morning, I watched the creation of Pamola—though in folklore, Pamola is a he, not a she. With my patoot resting on the cold dock, I clutched my warm coffee cup and watched as Mother Nature shaped several versions of Pamola. Each one resembled man, moose, and eagle.

During these mornings, my mind wanders and wonders. It writes. It describes the scene unfolding before me. Every day, there's a new story being told—one that stirs emotions and deepens my appreciation and respect for the world around me. Today, in a playful twist, I watched as Pamola laze across the summit, spewing one cloud baby after another, each drifting toward the sunrise until they disappeared into its light. After birthing four cloud babies, Pamola’s head lifted just enough to catch the soft pink of the sunrise, as if to steal one last glance before they faded away.

Some might visually describe this morning as dreary, with its many shades of gray. I can understand why. But as I sat there, watching and listening, with a child-like mind, an array of stories filled my brain, it didn’t find the sky dreary at all. One short-lived story was briefly interrupted -maybe even enhanced by the call of loons in the distance, the swoop of an eagle from a nearby tree, a seagull, three mergansers, and a lone duck flying overhead -a fowl parade of sorts. I sipped my coffee through pursed lips, watching as the morning grew grayer, yet somehow even more beautiful.

 

Kayaking, Muck, Beasts, Slopes, and Mushrooms

Copyright 2024 by Lori-Ann Willey

Back from an adventurous outing, and wow, what a trek!  Due to moose and bear hunting season, I donned a hunter-orange sweatshirt, went for a short kayak ride, to another area for a walk through the woods.  The hydro company is doing their annual drawdown of the lake, and you can really see how much the water level has dropped in our photos with the water stump. But despite all that, I had a different mission in mind—hunting for edible fungi! It took me about 30 minutes to find a spot close enough to the shoreline to step out of my kayak without sinking too much into the mud. Mud and I? We’re not friends. I'd rather eat a pile of moose poops!  Well, maybe not, but close!  After paddling as close as I could and inching my way toward firmer ground, I finally found a place where I could safely step out. Though it meant a longer walk through the thickest of thickets, it was still way better than stepping into the deep yucky mucky stuff!  If at any time you hear me make squeamish noises, it's because I've stepped in mud!

After all that effort, I got lucky and found two matsutakes within a half an hour after dragging and tying my kayak upon land! Woo Hoo!  Given how dry it’s been, I felt like I’d won the lottery! From there, it was a bit more of a struggle—crawling on all fours up steep slopes, sliding back down, and navigating around rocks and fallen trees. It was tough going, but I kept my eyes open for anything edible. After literally searching high and low, I didn’t find much else.

At one point between steep slopes, I stopped to rest on a moss-covered log, taking in the beauty of the large moss-carpeted landscape before me—there’s just something so peaceful about it. I could hear logging in the not-so-distant, reminding me that this area will probably look completely different next spring. With a scowl, I thought, because I know this area so well, the way it is now will be a loss to me, so I soaked in that mossy area long and deep.  Thoughts of snapping a photo came to mind, but I wanted to remember other details for other reasons, like maybe a later painting option, or maybe for a future descriptive writing piece in a book -the setting for a scene, or an event.  

A few minutes later, and just as I started walking again, apparently, I startled a large animal by my movement—a bear or moose maybe? The movement itself sounded somewhat aggressive so I called out, “Hey Bear!” as I crouched to look under the thick tree limbs hoping to catch a view of legs at least, but I only spotted moving fir branches -no beast of any kind. My guess is it was a moose, possibly a yearling, skirting around the loggers that caught a whiff of my scent and/or unexpected movement. I'll never know for sure.  Thought it was strange that I never heard it leaving the area though. A moose doesn't care much about the noise it makes, whereas a bear does.  Whatever it was had heft.  As I crossed over another log, the mossy rock below showed a heart-shaped moose print that had cut away the moss itself and was as clean as a sharp cookie-cutter pressed into soft dough, so more than likely, the beast was a moose and not a bear.  I suppose, a bear would make for a better story, but.

A short distance later, I found myself at the base of another steep incline.  As per usual, I decided to climb to where I’d found matsutakes before...a lot of them.  The problem with that idea is that my bum knee was already aching, and was becoming increasingly stiff from swelling.  If I hadn’t been so determined, I’d say, “Not today.”  The other “problem” was that the matsutake are always just below the top rim!  In the past, if dealing with an injury, I’d walk the top edge from another direction with a much gentler slope vs repeated two steps up to a slide backward process which means a wicked slow uphill climb.  I approach life the same -I face yuckies head-on vs skirt around them.  Some people don't like that quality in me, but I've had to learn the hard way.

The lack of rain and the noise from logging made it tough to enjoy the peacefulness of the woods. The fallen leaves were crunching underfoot and dry, crunchy white lichen was more in line with November vs end of September.  I pushed on, though, grabbing onto saplings and rocks for balance as I climbed. At the top, not a single mushroom in sight. Feeling a bit discouraged, tired, fighting allergies, and running on just 3 hours of sleep, I knew it was time to head back. The way down that slope was just as challenging, sliding, back-stepping, leaning, and falling onto upright trees for support or break a fall.  At times, I walked the along the slope until I thought my sneaker would rip from the sole.  It never did, but the slope so steep that my foot slipped out of my downhill sneaker several times.  This, despite the lace being tied snuggly.  Gravity is gravity, grip is grip, and socks can be slippery within those sneakers after stepping into the mud.  Yuck!

Upon flattish ground once again, I dreaded that walk through the mud yet again.  Oh, the noise I'd make would've been comical if one was in earshot.  When I finally reached the edge of the woods, oh how I dreaded the walk through the sticky mud. It wasn't long before a set of fresh animal tracks in the mud distracted me.  As I got closer, I noticed those tracks had walked in my footprints from a couple hours earlier, and they lead right to my kayak.  Something had come by and checked "me" out! Based on the prints, which had no visible claw marks and were about 1 1/3 inches wide, people I've showed the photos to guessed it could have been an otter, fisher, lynx, or even a bobcat.  My first instinct was otter, but it doesn't matter what they are, they are fun.

Navigating back through the shallow, rock-filled cove in my kayak proved just as slow and frustrating as my arrival.  The sun reflected off the water from this angle, too, which  made it hard to see anything except for the bright sky above. I hit rock after rock below the surface, sometimes (too often) becoming stuck upon them, and had to wiggle and pry the kayak free. It reminded me of being a kid trying to use a snow sled upon a grassy lawn.  It just wouldn't move on its own.  Often, I’d paddle backward onto another rock or between two -stuck in another way, but eventually, I made it into deeper water where I must say, I chuckled as much at the experience as I felt in relief when I reached those deeper waters.  It wasn’t long before I repeated the same process as I approached our shoreline. Finally, I was able to swish my feet in the water and rinse off all that mud.  Bleck!

In the end, it was quite the mid-day excursion! A workout, a bit of wildlife mystery, and I came home with two beautiful matsutakes.  I'd do it all over again.

Following A Moosie, Found A Tick

 Copyright 2024 by Lori-Ann Willey

While Paul rested, I took the truck and headed towards a nearby stream. I've explored that stream countless times before, but this morning, I had the want to venture deeper into the woods. With my knee still recovering from injury, I chose to start by following an old tote road to avoid any strain. Eventually, I veered off towards a wetter area. Along the way, I noticed deer tracks, droppings, and a spot where a moose had recently passed. Intrigued, I decided to follow the moose, listening for the telltale crunch of its steps, hoping to catch a glimpse before it reached the meadow-like area.

As I pushed deeper into the woods, the terrain became increasingly challenging. My feet sank into soft ground, and I navigated through thick alders. Occasionally, I heard low grunts, as if the moose invited me to respond, but I remained silent. Continuing onward, I found myself balancing unsteadily on tree roots and fragile alder branches, determined to follow the trail. Eventually, I reached a point where further progress became impossible. The moose, far more capable than I in navigating such terrain, continued gracefully, its presence occasionally audible through the trees and my own internal groans with near-fall after near-fall.  If only I had its long legs and balance!

Disappointed, I turned back, retracing my steps with careful balance. Back at the truck, I felt a sensation on my forearm. Assuming it was a fly or spider, I brushed at it absentmindedly until I realized it was a tick crawling up my arm. This was only the second time I've encountered a tick in this area, both instances occurring away from camp while navigating dense thickets.    I could do without the ticks but have to wonder if the tick missed a ride on a moosie, or hopped off and I was just the next victim.

Often, while wandering through the woods, I find myself irresistibly drawn to game trails. Every part of me longs to follow these paths, always hoping to catch a glimpse of a creature pausing to figure out what kind of animal I am. If I'm not bound by a pressing agenda, like searching for wild edibles, I often stand there, seriously debating whether I should abandon my current task to explore the trail. It’s a constant inner struggle not to redirect my focus and say to myself, “I’ll loop back around after I see where this goes.” But through these moments of diversion, I’ve learned so much—like recognizing the subtle animal track by an upturned leaf or distinguishing how animal prints vary across different landscapes, elevation changes, etc. It’s instinctive, it’s the lure and love of the woods -a passion! 

LIME WENT EVERYWHERE

Copyright 2024 by Lori-Ann Willey

LIME WENT EVERYWHERE, but mostly on the truck. Yesterday, I dropped Paul off at IVIG to save myself lots of extra steps due to the knee injury, I left him at the door to fend for himself for a few minutes while I crossed the road to pick up some lime for my garden. Our soil is quite acidic here, so I make as much compost as I can and add/make lime as a "just in case". Lime also helps deter certain pests like slugs, too, so I do use it straight as well.

I had placed the order the day before. I also placed an order for ten bags of Black Kow Manure. Normally, as most of you know, I "harvest" moose poops by the 5-gallon pail, but with Paul's shingles, I've not been able to do that this summer (thus far), so with plans on planting in my long Hugel along the driveway next spring, I opted to buy poops of the cow kind vs collecting the moosie poop kind.

I parked in the pick-up area as usual, ever-so-slowly stepped from the truck, used the bed of the truck to help me walk to the tailgate, and very carefully, climbed onto the bed. Thankfully, our truck is the style that has a drop-down section for a shorter step-up. Up I went, moved coolers around, and made room for the bag of lime and ten bags of poops. While waiting, I sat upon a cooler and enjoyed the warmth of the day. It wasn't long before I was approached asking if I could pull the truck around to the side of the building because my stuff was on a pallet and waiting for me there. If she could've heard the dreaded deep-gut groan, I think she would've recognized it as a painful one. But I put on a smile and told her I could. It took me a bit to figure out how to climb down, but I did while using the strength of my arms to bear the weight load on my knee. Thank God I'm a strong woman….think I even said, "Thank you" aloud.

Again, using the truck as a walking aid, once at the door, I used the pull-up grab bars for the same reason. I thought I'd pull it off the truck, but thankfully, they are solid-solid (American-made?) Phew! As I pulled up, the clerk was waiting for me, so I couldn't dilly-dally as I should've. Repeated the process I did. I couldn't have the stuff just plopped onto the truck all willy-nilly-like, 'cause I still had Sam's and Walmart curbside to pick up, which meant climbing onto the bed at least two more times. Upon the truck I went so I could take the bags and put each next to the cab for cooler room near the tailgate. There will be no rain in the future so the bags could stay on the truck, the coolers with food could not.

The first bag I was handed was lime, and I knew there was trouble the second I saw how it was being carried, and how soaking wet it was. I wasn't pleased, but if it held together, I could transfer it into a pail once at camp, so I said nothing when I probably should've....and they should've known better than giving me a lesser product! The second the transfer from hand-to-hand, I knew it wasn't going to work, 'cause the bag was already tearing...10 fingers went through the bag and the contents started spilling. Quickly, I set it down and told the clerk that I needed another bag and one that wasn't wet, 'cause "this isn't going to work". There was no problem, and the employee admitted, 'I wondered how that was going to work'. I wanted sooooo badly, to say, "REALLLY? And you gave it to me anyway?" I wasn't impressed, but knew that employees have bosses to answer to, and if told to hand it off anyway, what is that employee to do? At least this way, it was customer rejection. In another hand-off, the bag opened and heaped most of it onto the bed of the truck. Apologies galore from both of us, especially trying to clean it up with only hands and feet, down over the tailgate, down over the step-up helper with USB ports and rubber-coated electronics, before the rest fell onto the ground.

Once everything was loaded and I was given a dry bag of lime, it took me several minutes trying to get the stuff out of the gaps so I could fold the tailgate into a closed position again. The lime was mounded deeply. It was a chore, but I stood there, leaning on the tailgate to take the weight off my knee, and got it done with my fingers the best I could. I don't fault the clerk. I was an employee once and know that when a boss tells you to do something, you do it. I could've asked them to put the bags further on the truck for me. I could've stayed in the truck, too. I also could've asked them to brush all the lime from the truck and tailgate hinges, and I could've demanded a truck wash, as well as told her I was injured and couldn't do any of those things, and they would've done it without hesitation. I know they would've 'cause "customer comes first". However, I'm not one to be helped or care much about a dirty truck, and I’m certainly not one to bellyache over challenging work, injured or not. She had no idea I was hurting and screaming inside and that's important to me, too.

I grew up working through injuries, 'cause as my father would say, "It'll make you tough". That it did. I do what I can without further risking injury, but I'm a believer in, "you gotta keep moving" 'cause that helps the body heal, too. I did a loop in the small parking lot to turn around and as she swept up the lime from the pavement, we both grinned and wished each other a good day.

Making life better for all, one day at a time, because being rude and obnoxious is not my way. Other people matter, too. A job is a job, and in this world where so many people refuse to work and want hand-outs only, I applaud her for holding a job, even if she was covered in lime. Smiles are important, and injuries heal. It did me good to work my knee a little, too. A win-win. But, now, I'm going out with a little whisk broom and finish removing the lime that didn't bounce free of the truck on these dusty roads. ha ha ha ha Remember, you are important, but others are, too. See what happens when I rest my body….I write and bore you with long-ass stories.

NATURE IS A TEACHER, BUT DO WE LISTEN?

Copyright 2024 by Lori-Ann Willey

The inspiration for this writing piece comes from a conversation I had with a woman in a waiting room last week.  Among our many discussions, we talked about how nature can predict the weather, but so few people know how to do that these days, including some of those in that profession.  

This morning, with sprinkles dropping all around, I figured I had enough time to step off the deck and look over my gourde plants.  The second my bare feet hit the ground, the invitation to walk toward the woods was far too inviting, and like Hansel and Gretel following the bread trail, I fall for Mother Nature’s luring woodsy tricks every time, too.  Everything about a wooded area is always a temptation for me -always has been, so, instead of looking over my garden plants, I walked into the woods instead.  Despite the weather, there were no mosquitoes after my blood, and the sprinkles hadn’t filtered through the trees yet either.  It was a perfect time for a walk-about.

As I put one barefoot in front of the other, my attention drew to a large boulder with navel lichen.  I’ll go back another day and harvest what is on the ground only.  Glancing around, I looked for wild fungi or berries to harvest, but found neither.  It wasn’t long before my mind turned to future erosion control methods.  I hadn’t cleaned up winter debris in this area yet, and today wasn’t the day to start.  Each walk through the woods is different and there is always something new to see.    The woods, like everything in the natural world, are ever-changing.  It’s not only the lightness or darkness of the day.  It’s not only the shadows that change from minute to minute, and it’s not only the leaves and plants that seem to shift in the wind either.  It’s all that and so much more.  It’s comfort, a sense of belonging, and a great appreciation and respect that hits all my senses, memories, and emotions, too. Even now, I still hear my parents’ voices as they taught me what they knew.  I can “see” and “hear” them -always with me, still reminding me of lessons learnt so long ago.  I was so little then, yet I was taught in a way that I would remember.

I grew up learning, studying, and observing nature -my parents were amazing teachers.  How to read the sky, the leaves, flowers, and the plants to know when rain is coming, etc.  The animals tell their own stories, too, and while hunting, I depend on the sounds of nature, the activity of the small critters and birds.  They all tell a story or situation, and that is especially so when there is something different happening in the woods with the birds and the squirrels being the loudest and most persistent tattle tails, EVER!  However, their movements alone tell a hunter a lot, too.  If in the woods often enough, seeing, and paying attention to details, etc.  one can’t help but to learn their behavior and their “language.”

Even when the sky is blue and the sun is bright, nature and its inhabitants know ahead of time when a storm is approaching, and they each prepare for it in their own way.  I mean, how often do you see birds flying in the wind and rain?    Sadly, most humans have lost the ability to read the sky/clouds, winds, plants, animals, etc. around us.  Even as a child, while fishing down a long stream far away from where we pitched our tents, I’d note the change in wind direction and knew what to expect.  Our family fished in the rain a lot, ‘cause that’s when the native trout bite the best, so the rain was welcomed by my parents, not so much by me.  There was no turning back simply because our clothes were soaked.  That may be why I do not like being in the rain to this very day.  Hard to know.

The wild daisy (Oxeye Daisy) is a plant that grows about everywhere and is easy to see if one chooses to.  As a child, it was fun to pull off one petal at a time saying, “he loves me, he loves me not,” however there was another reason to become fascinated by the flower -it can be used as a clock.  The flower always faces the sun throughout the day, even if the sun is hidden by clouds, the plant knows where it is in the sky.   By morning, the flower will start its day by facing east and at the end of the day, it’ll be facing west. 

The dandelion and clover flowers are two examples, as well as many others, which can tell if a storm is approaching.  The more humid it is, the tighter the flowers close.  The same can kindah be said about the leaves/stems of the maple and poplar trees.  When those leaves droop, look somewhat wilted, and in the slightest breeze you see the backside of the leaf as it flutters, the weather conditions are changing quickly.  It doesn’t mean that it will rain, but most always, it will, or at least the conditions are right for a rain shower, at least.

Growing up, family vacations either found us visiting my grandparents in Mount Chase or traveling logging roads as often as possible. Often, we’d do both, visit my grandparents, go camping, and then visit them again on the way back through.  No matter what, the trip was always a long one, and not just by distance and time, but because I was so very anxious to see my grandparents and go camping, too.  To an anxious child, hours traveling seemed like endless days before we’d arrive! 

The anxiousness always started the second my parents packed a couple loaves of bread, canned potatoes, a small bag of flour, salt, pepper, and butter.  Canned potatoes because they were easier to pack and wouldn’t become bruised or over-heated enroute.  The rest of our food would be fish caught and berries picked.  We packed light, and we fished and foraged hard.

For hours, we traveled north before reaching my grandparents, then onto “Paper Company Land.”  Those roads were and still are slow and bumpy so if I were the napping type, the second we reached a dirt road, I’d’ve been jolted awake.   I always enjoyed watching the trip along the way, from the second we left our house to the point at which we’d pitch our tents.  Even as a little-little girl, I knew, that one day, it would be me bringing my family to such faraway places…and I did. We pretty much had our favorite places to pitch a tent.  Back then, there were no maps, there were no checkpoints, there were no campsites, and there were no road names or signs.  I simply paid attention.   I knew which roads to take, towns we’d pass through, and the store owners by name, too.  

As we slowly traveled those bumpy logging roads for hours on end, I’d speak up and tell my parents things like, ‘That’s where we saw the dead bear once,’ ‘We almost hit a moose there before,’ ‘We never caught anything in that little brook except for chubs.’   My parents always seemed impressed with my memory from year to year, but they had no idea how many times I’ve traveled those roads and relived those memories in my head.  I always wanted to be camping!  Always!  Now, over 50 years later, I still find myself living each day with just as much (more) appreciation as I did at the age of five!

One part of the trip that I didn’t like was how dusty those logging roads were, but only because they blocked my view as we drove along weaving around potholes for hours on end. Being unable to see, took away the anticipation of what awaited around the next corner -usually a moose.  With limited view from my very anxious eyes, only then, was it OK to have a quick rain shower to “keep the dust down” as my father would say. Like him driving, I wanted to see everything, so sitting in the middle of the back seat ensured that I’d be able to see through the windshield and side windows at the blink of an eye or the turn of the head.   

When the dusty road stopped my viewing pleasure for longer than a few minutes, I would instinctively glance at the poplar and maple sapling leaves along the road edges hoping to see wilted leaves fluttering in the slightest wind on a hot dusty day back.  This was back when there was no air conditioning in vehicles, and especially in our red truck with an extended cab.  Taught at a young age to identify certain trees, I knew if I saw the  backside of poplar and maple leaves as they fluttered in the air meant rain was on its way, even if it ended up being that five minute shower, it not only meant less dust, but it meant cooler air so we could roll down the truck windows again without choking on that road dust!

One is never too young to learn the ways of nature, and it doesn’t matter how knowledgeable you are, there is always something to learn, something to see, something to hear, something to smell, something to touch, and something to remember -the physical and emotional connections.