Sunday

The Pasture, by Robert Frost 

I’m going out to clean the pasture spring

I’ll only stop to rake the leaves away

(And wait to watch the water clear, I may):

I’m going out to fetch the little calf

That’s standing by the mother. It’s so young,

It totters when she licks it with her tongue.

I sha’n’t be gone long.—You come too.

This path leads deep into the forest. Care to join me? 

I chose this hike today for two reasons. The first—the best—is that it rained last night, and I love what happens to the woods when they are saturated, all the colors and contrasts, the rich scents and quiet drippings from the tall trees. The second reason isn’t nearly so nice; this is a hike I rarely do because Thomas, my favorite hiking buddy, doesn’t like it. No doubt he has gotten more than a whiff or two of the wild things that roam here, and he is always on high alert and anxious when we come. Alas, I resignedly accepted the news from the vet on Friday that Thom will no longer go on walk-abouts with me. He has severe arthritis in his shoulder, poor old man, so he has been placed in retirement, limited to short walks but not limited at all in the amount of love and affection (and treats) he will continue to receive.

If it’s 40° when you set out, taking a photograph—even with your phone—requires removing hands from pockets, the glove from your right hand, and the phone from your left pocket. Take the shot, then repeat the process in reverse. We may do this a few dozen times on this walk. Never, though, get so caught up in getting the right shot that you cease to be vigilant. Your eyes must always keep scanning for movement, for the deer or the bobcat or the bear or the coyote… or the mountain lion you’ve heard tell lives here but have never seen.

Have you noticed, as we walk deeper into the woods, that the rush of traffic on the freeway has died away? The soft crunch of our footfalls on the damp, leaf-strewn earth is all we hear. Wait—that quick, muted thudding we hear as we stop for another photo is… something. Deer? Probably. Let’s assume so, and keep walking.

Oh! Did you see that? If you looked up in time, you saw the redtail hawk gliding past directly over our heads. She carried nesting material in her beak. Is it time? Already? It’s time. This is what winter is for. Getting ready for spring.

A brightly colored male towhee hops around on a branch, eyeing us suspiciously without taking flight, flicking his tail dismissively. “I am not afraid of you, wingless creatures!”

You can see now how the rust color of the wild buckwheat looks almost crimson with its saturation of rain water, and the moss on the side of that tree trunk is the best color of “forest” green.

How do woodpeckers make such perfectly round holes in the trees? It's another one of those mysteries of Nature that makes us stop in our tracks in amazement.

My goodness—Have we walked a mile already? I have hot soup waiting at home. Let’s turn around now and walk back.