Many years ago, I went to a silent 10-day retreat, and when I wasn’t sitting on a cushion meditating (or at least trying/learning/actually sometimes doing), I was outside wandering the grounds of the Massachusetts location. It was wintertime and there was a little snow and some slippery bits up and down the walkable hills so I decided I’d find a walking stick to clomp around with. I found a great one and decided that at the end of each walk, I’d plant it in the ground for someone else to use and/or I’d remember where I’d stuck it for my next stroll. This action felt thrilling because apparently I needed something to do with my mind so…walking sticks. I also picked up a pine cone on my first trip outside that looked like it was embedded with diamonds (ice + solitude + some buzz in my head = everyday items appearing magical) and put it carefully in my pocket. Once back in my room, I placed the pine cone on the windowsill. The ice had melted so it now looked like an ordinary pine cone, but still, I felt happy to see it there. During the next day’s walk I picked up another one and put it on my windowsill next to the first. Rinse and repeat for two more days and there were four of those little puppies lined up in my room, except the first two were starting to crumble because, well, dry heat + time = disintegration. I pondered this (of course I did. everything was being pondered deeply). I felt sad that I’d taken these little objects out of their natural habitat and lined them up like trophies. What was the point of that? What was I trying to achieve here? Honestly, I don’t remember what I came up with but I did sweep all the pine cones into my coat and carried them back outside, then let them loose.

The other day on a morning walk, I passed a field of daisies. They made me happy so I picked a few to bring home and put in a vase. When I brought them eye level, I saw that there was a spider in a web on one and some other crawling critters on another. Oh, shit, I thought, these flowers are homes, like a little condo village that I’ve just plucked up and displaced. The Robert Moses of the neighborhood. So I dropped them and wandered away again thinking, What was that about? Why the need to take this stuff? Maybe for memories? Although it wasn’t like I was going to forget about the field of daisies or even the diamond-sparkly pine cone for that matter. Did I need to bring a piece of the outdoors in? Or perhaps it was just as simple as see it, want it.

It’s also, I suspect, the fact that I’m getting used to being surrounded by nature. In New York City, Trader Joe’s was the place for flowers and when I saw birds other than pigeons, I was flabbergasted. In Redlands, ditto the flowers from TJ’s although there were certainly hillsides covered in beautiful foliage. And there was also birdsong along with the random coyotes roaming about, which actually was sad because for sure somewhere close behind would be Animal Control. Up here though, I absolutely feel like a minority creature. Sure, there are other people in houses spaced a few football fields away although on my walks I rarely see any of them. What I do see are the turkeys (two big ones with their littles in the woods this morning. I suspect a turkey-type playdate), a doe and her spindly fawn crossing the road last night, Woodeen and her little chuck-pups in the backyard, and a new addition to the neigborhood: Roquelle the black bear.

Yep, an actual bear. She first turned up last Saturday in our front yard, spotted initially by the cats whose minds were so blown that they froze like statues with huge eyes that said quite clearly what-the-actual-fuck-is-that?, then D and I watched as she rounded the house and headed for the trashcans. (See clip below for that moment where D attempts a finger wag through the window and she looks at him over her shoulder with a “who are you?” regalness that’s hard to argue with.) Two days later she was up on our front porch maybe trying out the rocking chair? She’s an ambler and it seems from some cursory online NextDoor research that she’s a presence around these parts. I actually now take my walks with a can of bear spray in a holster just in case. It’s no exaggeration to say that my fashion stance has changed enormously. Where once I was rocking the pleather pants, shrunken jacket, chunky-heeled boots look, I now sport multi-pocket jeans, slightly tattered t-shirt, and Merrell mesh hiking boots, accessorized with a bear spray holster that I obviously never want to use.

It doesn’t make me nervous, this rolling, tumbling, living landscape, instead, it reminds me that I’ve never actually lived anywhere in my entire life where this much nature exists. So it’s a kind of awe along with a realization that I’m really just visiting. Or maybe cohabitating with fellow creatures who don’t even remotely need to speak the same language as me. A dose of mutual respect is my stance currently and I know I’m going to have some trouble when hunting season starts and I’m hearing the guns. That’s gonna suck.

So I’m currently working on leaving things where they lay or roam or hop or burrow or grow. Everyone’s busy with their thing and I don’t need to have a piece to be happy in the knowledge that they’re there.