Hefted a rain-soaked fawn this morning, surprised at how flexible it was in its stiffness. Walked away with wet hands and a fleck of blood on my wrist.
After breakfast, an Idiot Wind blew me to Breezewood looking for a tunnel on an eroded highway. Wasn't sure how far I'd have to walk, but then suddenly there it was.
On a day like today, you don't realize how hot it is until you stop moving, then sweat and denim combine to smother you.
Other tunnels I've explored have had a light at the end. This one didn't, it was just a throat of hazy blackness. So I sat at its mouth, had a snack, read the graffiti, and watched the tunnel exhale a cool, dusty breath. After a while, fellow explorers were heard long before seen, so I got up and headed back before they could step out of the darkness and destroy the illusion.
Crossed paths with a couple of local boys on the way back and some thoughts crossed my mind that I didn't want to have. What a world we live in. As the young men went on their way, I turned my mind back to the fawn to make the thoughts go, too.
Back at the car, pulled out and hit the road in search of a road on a hill that defied gravity. Blood On the Tracks... blood on my wrist... a runaway truck axle-deep in gravel on the way to Bedford.
Lost my shit and was reduced to giggles coming down the mountain toward the junction with 522 when I took my foot off the gas to coast the descent and watched the speedometer slow down and down and down. Would've just let the car come to a stop in the middle of the highway, but someone was coming down behind me.
At a Pentecostal church along Jack Rd.: "Nothing ruins the truth like stretching it".
Never did find Bedford or that physics-defying hill, but gave into giggles again coming around the first bend of an S curve to see a sign warning to watch for cows in the road.
Looked for the fawn as I approached home, but it was gone. Guess the county came and took it away. Just as well. I can still feel the muscles of its neck on my fingertips and see the blood that flowed from its ear as I laid it down.
Showing posts with label wildlife. Show all posts
Showing posts with label wildlife. Show all posts
July 27, 2015
July 17, 2014
Crows, pistachios, and banjos
Went for a bike ride this morning. A short ride due to time constraints, along the C&O closer to the city than I normally ride, beginning at mile 23 and heading down to Great Falls, just 15 miles from Georgetown. Pulled up for a break at Great Falls under a shady tree next to a paddock of sorts built for the mules that pull canal boats for tourists on the weekends-- Just a small area bound by a wooden fence on three sides with a gate enclosing the fourth, with a bench next to it for the mule handlers. Nice spot on a weekday to sit and eat pistachios and watch geese and tourists wandering along the canal between the parking lot and the tavern-turned-museum & visitors center.
After a while, I noticed a lone crow swooping and floating back and forth over both tourists and geese. It turned and headed in my direction and I figured it'd either fly past towards the river behind me or up into the tree above me. Instead, it came straight at me, apparently only realizing about five feet away that I was there, at which point it suddenly swerved up and over me. I swung around on the bench expecting to see it disappear into the trees along the river but, nope, there it was, perched on the gate of the mule paddock behind me. It was obviously fairly well acclimated to people and probably a heck of a thief and beggar, judging from the way it sat and stared and softly squawked at me. So I unshelled a pistachio and quietly reached up from the bench to set it on top of the fencepost at the corner of the paddock. The crow sat there looking from me to the fencepost and muttering to itself for about half a minute, then walked tentatively along the railing, hopped up to the post, and snatched the nut. A quick swoop back to its spot on the railing. It tried to swallow the pistachio, but apparently decided it was too big, so it tucked it between its feet and pecked out little bits to nibble on until it was small enough to swallow the rest.
I unshelled another and placed it on top of the fencepost. This time the hesitation and squawky muttering lasted longer, so I stood up and, quietly asking the crow if it didn't like the salt'n'pepper flavor of the nuts, moved the pistachio to another fencepost along the middle of the rail farther away from the bench. After a few moments, it smoothly swooped to the opposite end of the railing and tentatively walked its way up to the middle fencepost and hopped up. It picked up the nut and held it for a moment, then set it back down and hopped down from the fence to the ground inside the paddock, where it found another nut I'd apparently accidentally tossed over my shoulder with empty shells. The crow took a few nibbles and then began picking through the grass for other fare. When nothing else turned up, it opened its wings and took off, this time heading off over the river, then swerving back past the paddock and across the canal to perch on the chimney of the old tavern/visitors center. Definitely had to have been that salt'n'pepper flavor that turned it off from the pistachios. Made me wish I'd just gotten plain ones.
Ended up the day at the Baltimore Museum of Industry to see Dom Flemons take part in "Banjos on the Waterfront", an outdoor concert in conjunction with their exhibit "Making Music: The Banjo in Baltimore and Beyond". I've driven past the BMI many times, even ridden my bike past, but never stopped in. Definitely need to go back again when the full museum is open-- The banjo exhibit was small but terrific and the few industrial displays I could see beyond it looked really fascinating. And I have to thank my friends at Wax-O-Holics for turning me onto Dom. Formerly of the Carolina Chocolate Drops, the man's a great musician and a very engaging performer. See for yourself--
And ain't this somethin', Dom with Pokey LaFarge--
After a while, I noticed a lone crow swooping and floating back and forth over both tourists and geese. It turned and headed in my direction and I figured it'd either fly past towards the river behind me or up into the tree above me. Instead, it came straight at me, apparently only realizing about five feet away that I was there, at which point it suddenly swerved up and over me. I swung around on the bench expecting to see it disappear into the trees along the river but, nope, there it was, perched on the gate of the mule paddock behind me. It was obviously fairly well acclimated to people and probably a heck of a thief and beggar, judging from the way it sat and stared and softly squawked at me. So I unshelled a pistachio and quietly reached up from the bench to set it on top of the fencepost at the corner of the paddock. The crow sat there looking from me to the fencepost and muttering to itself for about half a minute, then walked tentatively along the railing, hopped up to the post, and snatched the nut. A quick swoop back to its spot on the railing. It tried to swallow the pistachio, but apparently decided it was too big, so it tucked it between its feet and pecked out little bits to nibble on until it was small enough to swallow the rest.
I unshelled another and placed it on top of the fencepost. This time the hesitation and squawky muttering lasted longer, so I stood up and, quietly asking the crow if it didn't like the salt'n'pepper flavor of the nuts, moved the pistachio to another fencepost along the middle of the rail farther away from the bench. After a few moments, it smoothly swooped to the opposite end of the railing and tentatively walked its way up to the middle fencepost and hopped up. It picked up the nut and held it for a moment, then set it back down and hopped down from the fence to the ground inside the paddock, where it found another nut I'd apparently accidentally tossed over my shoulder with empty shells. The crow took a few nibbles and then began picking through the grass for other fare. When nothing else turned up, it opened its wings and took off, this time heading off over the river, then swerving back past the paddock and across the canal to perch on the chimney of the old tavern/visitors center. Definitely had to have been that salt'n'pepper flavor that turned it off from the pistachios. Made me wish I'd just gotten plain ones.
Ended up the day at the Baltimore Museum of Industry to see Dom Flemons take part in "Banjos on the Waterfront", an outdoor concert in conjunction with their exhibit "Making Music: The Banjo in Baltimore and Beyond". I've driven past the BMI many times, even ridden my bike past, but never stopped in. Definitely need to go back again when the full museum is open-- The banjo exhibit was small but terrific and the few industrial displays I could see beyond it looked really fascinating. And I have to thank my friends at Wax-O-Holics for turning me onto Dom. Formerly of the Carolina Chocolate Drops, the man's a great musician and a very engaging performer. See for yourself--
And ain't this somethin', Dom with Pokey LaFarge--
January 2, 2011
Just don't know what to do with myself...
A buddy recently mentioned that she misses my blog. While that was gratifying to hear, I couldn't help but cringe a bit. I haven't written much lately because it feels that my focus has narrowed to the point that only two things revolve through my head anymore and I feel like the blog is full of them. One of those things gives me quite a high, providing excitement and joy in equal measure. The other has been dragging me down, somehow making me both restless and lethargic at the same time. Lately, though, the restlessness has been increasing and there is where hope lies.
In casting about for solutions, I've been looking carefully at the lives of friends and acquaintances. What I see is inspiring, though at the same time occasionally incites a frustrated envy--
One friend who's worked from home for the last several years recently had a change of position that required her to begin the daily slog into an office downtown. Rather than finding this to be a drudge, though, she's become re-energized by re-entry into the world and the change has radiated through her to affect other aspects of her life.
Another friend who not too long ago shared my lethargy expressed that state beautifully...
Last summer, she began forcing herself off the 'net and outside into her garden. More recently, she found a job putting to use a natural talent and seems not only motivated but wonderfully happy. Other friends have moved to new states, even new countries, to begin new chapters of their lives and the energy involved in such moves leaves me staggered. Where do they find it? Mine's apparently hiding with my motivation.
A fellow blogger over at The Gardener's Cottage wrote yesterday about her New Year's resolution to have more fun. Considering what she's shared with me about the challenges she's faced the last few years, it sounds like the best prescription any doctor could give to her. But it made me realize that my own problem has possibly been too much fun-- My single lifestyle allows me the freedom to spend my time off as I please, but have I been making productive use of that time? The things I do for fun are beginning to feel stale and suddenly seem to have a narcotizing effect rather than an energizing one.
The one activity that still seems to do me some good is getting out into the woods. This winter's been abundantly cold and grey and that's apparently kept a lot of people off the trails. Solitude on its own can be as much a trap as a pleasure, but throw in a good endorphin rush and it clears the mind while recharging the spirit. And Nature provides its own examples of motivation-- Yesterday's hike through a nearby conservation park brought me to a well-maintained beaver dam. The destruction wreaked on trees in the area indicated that the dam's builders haven't yet settled down into a hibernatory state and have been living up to the cliché of "busy as a beaver".
On top of all this, I recently decided I'd had enough of the Comcast monopoly and gave up cable television. I had no idea this would be such a challenge. I didn't think that I watched much television, but apparently I had grown used to having it on in the background and being able to sit down and watch for a few minutes in between other activities. It was filler. Without it, I find I don't know what to do with myself. I'm almost in a panic, trying to think of things I can occupy myself with at those moments when the intarwebs have run dry and I feel like being still. Sure, I could read a book, but I find I need something that engages me visually as well as mentally.
To that end, I'm in search of a new hobby or project, even two or three. Thing is, there are potentially too many options. I've begun making lists to consider the myriad options, but can't seem to settle on anything--
- I could take up something like knitting that would engage both hands and eyes, but what the heck would I do with the product of my labors? I can only wear so many sweaters, and my family's moved to Florida so I could hardly send them scarves.
- Several years ago I got into making walking sticks. Started out one day by picking up an interestingly shaped branch, taking it home and sanding it down, varnishing it, and wrapping it with colored thread to create a handhold. Ended up making several for myself and people I knew who appreciated such things, adding such decorative elements as feathers and beads. One for a friend was even personalized with a small pouch of totem items. But I ran out of people to give them to and, as with knitting, I can't just end up with an apartment full of these things. If I began again, perhaps I could figure out some way to sell them...?
- Photography's been a hobby for a long time, but I've never really gotten serious about it. Should this be the year that I sink money into a decent SLR instead of just running around with my little point'n'shoot? Should I learn Photoshop and actually try do something with my photos? Sell 'em, enter 'em in contests...?
- Writing, like photography, is something I've long considered trying to do more with. But the (in)frequency of posts here at the blog shows just how disciplined I've been about that. Would it be worth making the effort to become more focused, find things to write about, do it more frequently? Perhaps, but part of the impetus behind this whole idea is to get out from behind the computer monitor and away from the desk.
- Music's been one of my drugs of choice for as long as I can remember, but the closest I come to practicing it myself is bellowing along with the stereo in the car. Perhaps it's time to find out whether I've actually got any musical sensibilities of my own. I've considered a few times the idea of taking voice lessons, but have lately been wondering how difficult it might be to learn to play guitar.
- And there are, of course, dozens of classes I could take for personal enrichment: Psychology, literature, philosophy... Hell, maybe I could even find a physics class for the mathematics-challenged. Again, though, the number of choices has me paralyzed.
I need help, folks. Give me some input, ideas, advice, a kick in the ass. I'm on the verge of a crisis, in a muddle and will take any help I can get to climb out of it. Don't leave me in this state.
As for that other thing that gives me such a joyous high, it also provides many apropos accompaniments to my babblings...
In casting about for solutions, I've been looking carefully at the lives of friends and acquaintances. What I see is inspiring, though at the same time occasionally incites a frustrated envy--
One friend who's worked from home for the last several years recently had a change of position that required her to begin the daily slog into an office downtown. Rather than finding this to be a drudge, though, she's become re-energized by re-entry into the world and the change has radiated through her to affect other aspects of her life.
Another friend who not too long ago shared my lethargy expressed that state beautifully...
Where did it go?
Can someone help me find my motivation?
I left it here somewhere.
My ambition, my desire, my inclination?
I just had it in my hand,
And put it down here,
It's not where I stand,
It's not next to my beer.
I want to complete a project I start,
I want to complete a thought,
I want to do these things with all my heart,
But cannot.
Where oh where can my motivation be,
Oh where oh where can it be?
I can't see or know, or remember where I last saw it.
I can't dream or imagine or think where I hauled it.
If you see my drive, my thirst, my appetite,
Please send it right back over!
Tell it I miss it,
Tell it I'll be better,
Tell it I'm nothing with out it!
-- Tisha Christenson-Dillon I left it here somewhere.
My ambition, my desire, my inclination?
I just had it in my hand,
And put it down here,
It's not where I stand,
It's not next to my beer.
I want to complete a project I start,
I want to complete a thought,
I want to do these things with all my heart,
But cannot.
Where oh where can my motivation be,
Oh where oh where can it be?
I can't see or know, or remember where I last saw it.
I can't dream or imagine or think where I hauled it.
If you see my drive, my thirst, my appetite,
Please send it right back over!
Tell it I miss it,
Tell it I'll be better,
Tell it I'm nothing with out it!
Last summer, she began forcing herself off the 'net and outside into her garden. More recently, she found a job putting to use a natural talent and seems not only motivated but wonderfully happy. Other friends have moved to new states, even new countries, to begin new chapters of their lives and the energy involved in such moves leaves me staggered. Where do they find it? Mine's apparently hiding with my motivation.
A fellow blogger over at The Gardener's Cottage wrote yesterday about her New Year's resolution to have more fun. Considering what she's shared with me about the challenges she's faced the last few years, it sounds like the best prescription any doctor could give to her. But it made me realize that my own problem has possibly been too much fun-- My single lifestyle allows me the freedom to spend my time off as I please, but have I been making productive use of that time? The things I do for fun are beginning to feel stale and suddenly seem to have a narcotizing effect rather than an energizing one.
The one activity that still seems to do me some good is getting out into the woods. This winter's been abundantly cold and grey and that's apparently kept a lot of people off the trails. Solitude on its own can be as much a trap as a pleasure, but throw in a good endorphin rush and it clears the mind while recharging the spirit. And Nature provides its own examples of motivation-- Yesterday's hike through a nearby conservation park brought me to a well-maintained beaver dam. The destruction wreaked on trees in the area indicated that the dam's builders haven't yet settled down into a hibernatory state and have been living up to the cliché of "busy as a beaver".
On top of all this, I recently decided I'd had enough of the Comcast monopoly and gave up cable television. I had no idea this would be such a challenge. I didn't think that I watched much television, but apparently I had grown used to having it on in the background and being able to sit down and watch for a few minutes in between other activities. It was filler. Without it, I find I don't know what to do with myself. I'm almost in a panic, trying to think of things I can occupy myself with at those moments when the intarwebs have run dry and I feel like being still. Sure, I could read a book, but I find I need something that engages me visually as well as mentally.
To that end, I'm in search of a new hobby or project, even two or three. Thing is, there are potentially too many options. I've begun making lists to consider the myriad options, but can't seem to settle on anything--
- I could take up something like knitting that would engage both hands and eyes, but what the heck would I do with the product of my labors? I can only wear so many sweaters, and my family's moved to Florida so I could hardly send them scarves.
- Several years ago I got into making walking sticks. Started out one day by picking up an interestingly shaped branch, taking it home and sanding it down, varnishing it, and wrapping it with colored thread to create a handhold. Ended up making several for myself and people I knew who appreciated such things, adding such decorative elements as feathers and beads. One for a friend was even personalized with a small pouch of totem items. But I ran out of people to give them to and, as with knitting, I can't just end up with an apartment full of these things. If I began again, perhaps I could figure out some way to sell them...?
- Photography's been a hobby for a long time, but I've never really gotten serious about it. Should this be the year that I sink money into a decent SLR instead of just running around with my little point'n'shoot? Should I learn Photoshop and actually try do something with my photos? Sell 'em, enter 'em in contests...?
- Writing, like photography, is something I've long considered trying to do more with. But the (in)frequency of posts here at the blog shows just how disciplined I've been about that. Would it be worth making the effort to become more focused, find things to write about, do it more frequently? Perhaps, but part of the impetus behind this whole idea is to get out from behind the computer monitor and away from the desk.
- Music's been one of my drugs of choice for as long as I can remember, but the closest I come to practicing it myself is bellowing along with the stereo in the car. Perhaps it's time to find out whether I've actually got any musical sensibilities of my own. I've considered a few times the idea of taking voice lessons, but have lately been wondering how difficult it might be to learn to play guitar.
- And there are, of course, dozens of classes I could take for personal enrichment: Psychology, literature, philosophy... Hell, maybe I could even find a physics class for the mathematics-challenged. Again, though, the number of choices has me paralyzed.
I need help, folks. Give me some input, ideas, advice, a kick in the ass. I'm on the verge of a crisis, in a muddle and will take any help I can get to climb out of it. Don't leave me in this state.
As for that other thing that gives me such a joyous high, it also provides many apropos accompaniments to my babblings...
November 8, 2010
Another jackpot
Found this little beauty out in the woods yesterday. Same place where I wandered a few weeks ago, but in a different area, away from the junk piles and remnants of old human habitations. This was deeper in the woods along a little-used, partially overgrown trail, sitting on a moss-covered log as if someone had left it there just for me...
Raccoon. It's missing it's right incisor and one of the front teeth on that side keeps slipping out, but aside from that it's in perfect condition.
Am I greedy for snatching it up and slipping it in my pocket, rather than leaving it there the way the person before me did? I'm not much of a collector, but this is definitely the sort of thing I covet.
Raccoon. It's missing it's right incisor and one of the front teeth on that side keeps slipping out, but aside from that it's in perfect condition.
Am I greedy for snatching it up and slipping it in my pocket, rather than leaving it there the way the person before me did? I'm not much of a collector, but this is definitely the sort of thing I covet.
June 26, 2010
Random babblings: A chance encounter
Today was one of those muggy, hazy, hot and humid days that we get strings of in the mid-Atlantic area. Had to get out for a ride anyway. The tree-lined C & O Canal towpath, running parallel to the Potomac River for 184 miles, is the perfect spot in this sort of weather, tree-lined and shaded, though it is beset with large populations of gnats and mosquitoes. And large numbers of people on summer days like today. Ok, so it's close to perfect, but not quite.
This sort of thing just does not happen when there are other people around.
April 10, 2010
Jackpot!
Through all the years that I've been getting out in the woods to hike and explore (couple of decades now), I've wanted to find a relatively intact animal skull. When the mood strikes, I get off the established trail that everyone else follows and bushwhack just for the sake of exploration. Over the course of all this wandering, I've collected things such as vertebrae, half of a lower jawbone, the bleached shell of a turtle, and my favorite-- a single three-point antler apparently shed by a very young buck. I'd actually gotten to the point that I stopped bringing home bones because, well, people think my home is weird enough already. And I've come to like the idea of leaving them for someone else to find, imagining that person inspecting them the same way I do, wondering about the animal and how it met its end, perhaps pocketing it to take home to their own collection. For some reason, though, it's very rare to find a carcass with a skull anywhere nearby. My assumption has been that some scavenger always drags the head off somewhere to get at the delicacies inside. Whatever the case, today was the day I've been waiting for.
It was achingly lovely today, perfect for a bike ride, with a glorious blue sky and a soft breeze, sticky young leaves on the trees and colorful wildflowers scattered throughout the grass beneath them. I spent much of the ride cursing the fact that I'd left my camera at home, and perhaps if I'd had it with me I might've snapped a few shots of my prize and left it where I found it. Or perhaps not.
At one point, I stopped at one of the old aqueducts along the C & O to take in the view of a creek meandering towards the river. At the end of the aqueduct, a narrow footpath crossed the dry canal bed and headed off into the woods. In the spirit of wanderlust, I tipped the front of my bike down the bank and followed it. As I pedaled between the trees, a flash of white passed through my peripheral vision and made me wonder "Could that have been...?" I stopped and dropped my bike in the trail, walked back a few feet, and sure enough it was. All by its lonesome, with no other bones in sight.
I actually giggled once as I headed on down the path, when I glanced down and saw my shadow with the silhouette of the antlers sticking out of my backpack behind me. As I said this morning, sometimes it's the little things that make a day worthwhile.
It was achingly lovely today, perfect for a bike ride, with a glorious blue sky and a soft breeze, sticky young leaves on the trees and colorful wildflowers scattered throughout the grass beneath them. I spent much of the ride cursing the fact that I'd left my camera at home, and perhaps if I'd had it with me I might've snapped a few shots of my prize and left it where I found it. Or perhaps not.
At one point, I stopped at one of the old aqueducts along the C & O to take in the view of a creek meandering towards the river. At the end of the aqueduct, a narrow footpath crossed the dry canal bed and headed off into the woods. In the spirit of wanderlust, I tipped the front of my bike down the bank and followed it. As I pedaled between the trees, a flash of white passed through my peripheral vision and made me wonder "Could that have been...?" I stopped and dropped my bike in the trail, walked back a few feet, and sure enough it was. All by its lonesome, with no other bones in sight.
I actually giggled once as I headed on down the path, when I glanced down and saw my shadow with the silhouette of the antlers sticking out of my backpack behind me. As I said this morning, sometimes it's the little things that make a day worthwhile.
January 31, 2009
Recent readings: Living with the devil in the Maine woods
Living with the Devil, A Meditation on Good and Evil and Buddhism Without Beliefs, Stephen Batchelor:I got into Batchelor's writing because I was attracted to the cover of Living With the Devil (human being, check it out). What I found inside was, as much as I hate to resort to cliche, a revelation. Like Brad Warner, Batchelor espouses a version of Zen Buddhism that doesn't so much strip away mysticism as make realism magical. In LWtD, he begins by explaining the importance of learning to "encounter the raw, unfiltered contingency of life itself":
...Contingency reveals a chaotic freedom at the heart of of causally ordered events. However tempting it is to invoke the hand of God, karma, or destiny to inject a hidden order into what seems random, embracing contingency requires a willingness to accept the inexplicable and unpredictable instead of reaching for the anesthetic comfort of metaphysics.
The opposite of "contingency" is "necessity." No matter how ephemeral and insignificant I recognize this human life of mine to be, I cannot shake off an intuitive conviction that, deep down, my existence is necessary in the scheme of things. By paying close and sustained attention to the contingent nature of experience, the practice of Buddhist meditation challenges the instinctive feeling that we are, in the words of Milton's Satan, "self-begot, self-raised / By our own quick'ning power." In eroding this sense of our own necessity, we come to see how the unprecedented and unrepeatable person we are emerges from a sublime matrix of myriad contingent events-- no one of which need have happened either. Insight into the emptiness of self is achieved not by eliminating self but by understanding it to be contingent rather than necessary.
In BWB, he takes this freedom from necessity further by applying it directly to Buddhism and stating that "the dharma is not something to believe in but something to do." The book begins with one of the most definitive of quotes from the Buddha's Kalama Sutta:
"Do not be satisfied with hearsay or with tradition or with legendary lore or with what has come down in scriptures or with conjecture or with logical inference or with weighing evidence or with liking for a view after pondering it over or with someone else's ability or with the thought 'The monk is our teacher.' When you know in yourselves: 'These things are wholesome, blameless, commended by the wise, and being adopted and put into effect they lead to welfare and happiness,' then you should practice and abide in them."
Both books encompass so much more than their titles suggest, and both have become manuals of a sort for me to use in navigating the pitfalls of both life and my own nature. Most concretely, Batchelor's meditation instruction was what it finally took for me to get my ass on the mat and begin a daily practice (well, almost daily. Let's say every other day). Settling my monkey-mind has been a serious challenge, as it is for so many others, and focusing on the breath has been more a distraction than a means to open into emptiness. The light bulb went off while reading LWtD, though, when Batchelor wrote:
The trick is to remain fully aware of the breath without awareness impeding its natural ebb and flow... One way to do this is to wait for the breath to happen. After each inhalation and exhalation, there follows a brief pause as the muscles change gear, as it were, before releasing the pent-up air or drawing a fresh breath. The self-consciousness of breathing is most pronounced at these two moments: suddenly it feels as though "I" must inhale or exhale. To dispel this sense of agency, during each pause remain a disinterested observer, curious to notice when and how the muscles will engage of their own accord to initiate the next inbreath or outbreath. Just wait for the next phase in the breathing to kick in: with no expectation as to when it should start, no preparation for it to be deep or shallow, no anticipation for it to be forceful or gentle.
I still often find the breath to be like Schrodinger's Cat-- being conscious of it does affect its nature, no matter how long I wait for that inhalation. But Batchelor's advice is something specific to practice, and that has made all the difference.
The change in my mood and equilibrium since finding these two books has been subtle yet profound. As Batchelor himself puts it, "life [has become] less of a defensive stance to preserve an immutable self and more of an ongoing task to complete an unfinished tale." And that's tremendously freeing.
(My impressions of Brad Warner's books can be found here, for anyone who's interested.)
A Year in the Maine Woods, Bernd Heinrich:
The linked review is an excellent summation of this book, but I disagree strongly with its criticisms. I just re-read AYitMW for about the fourth time, and the elements that so disturb the reviewer are exactly what I love about it. It's to the point that, like Inman in Cold Mountain, randomly opening up his copy of Bartram's Travels and finding peace within the pages, I can open Heinrich's book to any page and become immersed. I did this recently when I found myself between books and unsure of what I was in the mood for, beginning sometime mid-winter both in the book and in the real world outside. When I reached the last page at spring-time, I went back to the start and continued into the beginning of summer. And all the while that I read about the return of song-birds and blossoming of leaves on trees, it was bitterly cold outside my window (thought nowhere near the minus temperatures Heinrich experienced in the Maine winter). The fact that the narrative follows the seasons rather than a linear story-line gives the book a circular quality that easily allows it to be read in this way, and Heinrich's descriptions are so explicit that the reader is transported and doesn't even realize the amount of scientific information being digested and tucked away. Anyone looking for a deeper connection to the natural world would do well to pick this one up.
November 27, 2008
Giving thanks for foxes
I took advantage of all the other folks sleeping in on this cold Thanksgiving morning to get out for a hike and had a few encounters along the way. Not with any of the hunters whose pickup trucks were parked along the road (I had a blaze-orange vest along just in case), but with a few of those critters that they might have liked to get in their sights This isn't the first time I've seen a fox along this particular trail, but it is the first time I've seen so many in one ramble.
I ran into the first one a ways down where the trail skirts close to the creek that it follows. The fox seemed to be looking in my direction when I spotted it, but then it turned its head away and stared off into the grass. After a moment, it began trotting away from me down the trail. I stayed back, only taking a few steps forward to keep it in sight as it passed an old tree stump. It stopped again near a curve in the trail, then did one of those hops that foxes do that seem to take it straight up in the air and forward at the same time. Whatever it was pouncing on must have gotten away, though, because it lifted its head and trotted off around the curve. I moved as quickly and quietly as I could until it was visible again, heading off of the trail and up a small hill. It passed through a patch of sunlight at one point and its fur blazed orange against the muted gold of the dried grass around it. I watched until it was gone, then put my hands in my pockets and ambled on.
This particular section of trail runs 2.5 miles from one road crossing to the next which, if you do the math, makes for five miles round-trip. Due to the time constraint of a Thanksgiving dinner commitment, I figured I'd just hike an estimated 2 miles down the creek then head back to get ready. Before I'd gotten quite that far, though, my turnaround point was decided abruptly for me when I spotted another fox lying along the trail about 20 feet ahead. I moved a few steps closer and could see that the fur running from its head down to its shoulder, where the rusty orange of its back turns into white under its neck and belly, was still fluffy and looked soft enough to touch, though its stillness implied an uninviting hardness. Strangely, the one thing I couldn't see was its tail. A fox's tail is generally almost as long as its body and often almost as big around, as well. The leaves on the ground weren't deep enough to hide something that full and furry. I tried not to dwell on ideas as to where it might have gone and instead spent few moments soberly contemplating the impermanence of beautiful things. Then it was time again to amble on.
On the way back, I saw a third fox. This one had seen me first, and was already streaking away. It stopped and watched me as I continued along, then took off again as the trail curved and I headed towards it. I also saw a few deer scattered along the way, including one young buck splashing his way across the creek. At one point, I wondered whether I should have spent this time in the woods pondering those things for which I'm thankful, but decided that was b.s. There've been a whole lotta days recently that I've felt grateful for the people in my life and the things that I have, so what really makes this day more significant than any other? I'm a firm believer in being thankful every day, even those on which you feel like life sucks and the world is coming to an end. But as the hike concluded, my thoughts followed suit and settled on one thing for which I am exceedingly grateful: That there are still little pockets of nature tucked in amongst the sprawling suburbs that comprise this over-developed portion of the east coast. Yes, on this day, I am thankful for that.
I ran into the first one a ways down where the trail skirts close to the creek that it follows. The fox seemed to be looking in my direction when I spotted it, but then it turned its head away and stared off into the grass. After a moment, it began trotting away from me down the trail. I stayed back, only taking a few steps forward to keep it in sight as it passed an old tree stump. It stopped again near a curve in the trail, then did one of those hops that foxes do that seem to take it straight up in the air and forward at the same time. Whatever it was pouncing on must have gotten away, though, because it lifted its head and trotted off around the curve. I moved as quickly and quietly as I could until it was visible again, heading off of the trail and up a small hill. It passed through a patch of sunlight at one point and its fur blazed orange against the muted gold of the dried grass around it. I watched until it was gone, then put my hands in my pockets and ambled on.
This particular section of trail runs 2.5 miles from one road crossing to the next which, if you do the math, makes for five miles round-trip. Due to the time constraint of a Thanksgiving dinner commitment, I figured I'd just hike an estimated 2 miles down the creek then head back to get ready. Before I'd gotten quite that far, though, my turnaround point was decided abruptly for me when I spotted another fox lying along the trail about 20 feet ahead. I moved a few steps closer and could see that the fur running from its head down to its shoulder, where the rusty orange of its back turns into white under its neck and belly, was still fluffy and looked soft enough to touch, though its stillness implied an uninviting hardness. Strangely, the one thing I couldn't see was its tail. A fox's tail is generally almost as long as its body and often almost as big around, as well. The leaves on the ground weren't deep enough to hide something that full and furry. I tried not to dwell on ideas as to where it might have gone and instead spent few moments soberly contemplating the impermanence of beautiful things. Then it was time again to amble on.
On the way back, I saw a third fox. This one had seen me first, and was already streaking away. It stopped and watched me as I continued along, then took off again as the trail curved and I headed towards it. I also saw a few deer scattered along the way, including one young buck splashing his way across the creek. At one point, I wondered whether I should have spent this time in the woods pondering those things for which I'm thankful, but decided that was b.s. There've been a whole lotta days recently that I've felt grateful for the people in my life and the things that I have, so what really makes this day more significant than any other? I'm a firm believer in being thankful every day, even those on which you feel like life sucks and the world is coming to an end. But as the hike concluded, my thoughts followed suit and settled on one thing for which I am exceedingly grateful: That there are still little pockets of nature tucked in amongst the sprawling suburbs that comprise this over-developed portion of the east coast. Yes, on this day, I am thankful for that.
August 20, 2008
Just slow down a little...
Got out in the woods for a hike today for the first time in a handful of months. This is typical in the summer-- I hike through the colder months of the year, then take advantage of the warmer months to get out with my bike or kayak. And while the places I go with those vehicles are still very close to nature, it's not quite the same as having my feet on a dirt trail, surrounded by trees. On the bike, there's metal between me and the ground and while I move slowly enough to take in my surroundings fairly well, it's still too fast to feel a part of those surroundings. In the kayak, I'm immersed almost literally in nature of an aquatic variety, yet, again, there's a foreign material between me and the water that ever so slightly limits the intimacy of the experience. But to be on foot, to reach out and touch the trees I pass, creates a connection that is much deeper.
So, anyway, I got out for a hike late this afternoon up at Sugarloaf Mountain. Over the years, as development in this part of Maryland has exploded, places like Sugarloaf have become more and more popular and, of course, more and more crowded. I've found that weekdays and crappy weather days are the only time I can go there without encountering hordes of people who think it's a great big park put there purely for their amusement. But by beginning my hike later in the day, I only passed a handful of mountain bikers and a couple of trail-joggers, and had long stretches of trail all to myself. I moved at a comfortable pace, slowing periodically to listen to the late-summer sounds of crickets and cicadas.
Towards the end of the hike, I experienced a bit of drama, the sort of thing that pretty much only happens when you slow down and move quietly through nature. Off to the side of the trail, I heard a small chirp and a light rustle of leaves. I stopped, thinking that I'd see a chipmunk dart away. Instead, I noticed a fat little brown toad in the leaves up against a small, partially decayed log. It was breathing heavily and straining itself forward and my first assumption was that it was frightened of me. Watching it, though, I realized that it was somehow caught where it was. It began trying to push forward with its front legs and the one hind leg that I could see. I moved a bit closer and began to reach down to pick it up. The thought suddenly struck me then that I might not want to do that, after all. The idea of picking it up and finding a snake attached to the leg I couldn't see gave me pause, so I pulled back and squatted down to continue watching, a slightly sick feeling growing in the pit of my stomach. Of course I wanted to help it, but how could I? If one of its legs was deep in a snake's throat, what could I do that wouldn't injure it further? And, even if I could free it somehow, that would mean depriving another creature of a meal that was essential to its survival. Life feeds on life, and we humans can't, shouldn't, always feel as if our interference is of benefit.
The little toad continued to try to pull itself away from whatever was holding it, emitting periodic chirping cries. It managed to get ahold of the log with its front legs and began to twist itself completely around, slowly pushing and shoving with all but that still invisible hind leg. Somehow, in doing so, it managed to free that leg and pull away. It took one or two short hops with the stuck leg held close to its body, then just sat there a few feet from me, breathing. I stood up slowly and took a step forward and, as I did so, I swear I saw a movement of some sort along the base of the log. The sun had sunk below the ridge behind me and the light in the woods was dim, so I have no idea what I actually saw. Was it the snake that had suddenly given up and let go? Or had the toad actually just slipped from the log and gotten its leg caught in a bit of loose bark? Since toads can't talk, I'll never know.
I ended up back at the car just before sunset. The last 1/2 mile or so through the dusky woods was bittersweet, as hiking at that time of day always is. I know I need to get back, but there's just something so appealing about being in the woods in the transition between day and night, something eerie yet comforting, that makes me want to slow down and soak in everything that's around me. It's the day saving the best for last.
Admiration
Could you move in slow motion?
Everything goes by so fast.
Just slow down a little,
Save the best part for last.
You speak in riddles,
Your intentions turn me on.
I'm yours forever,
Will you love me when I'm gone?
When I'm gone!
You're an unfenced fire!
Over walls we've trampled!
It's you I admire!
My living example
Your eyes are an undiscovered ocean far away.
Any minute now, keeping
Both poets and priests at bay.
Don't get ahead of me,
Could we just this once see eye to eye?
But your warmth, it haunts me.
Ask me how it feels to vie.
To vie!
You're an unfenced fire!
Over walls we trampled!
It's you I admire!
My living example
It's a photograph discovered a decade after.
It's a cannon blast disguised as a firecracker.
It's enough to bring a brick wall to its knees
And say please...
Could you move in slow motion?
Everything goes by so fast.
Just slow down a little,
Save the best part for last.
For last...
You're an unfenced fire!
Over walls we trampled!
It's you I admire!
My living example
My living example
It's you I admire!
My living example
So, anyway, I got out for a hike late this afternoon up at Sugarloaf Mountain. Over the years, as development in this part of Maryland has exploded, places like Sugarloaf have become more and more popular and, of course, more and more crowded. I've found that weekdays and crappy weather days are the only time I can go there without encountering hordes of people who think it's a great big park put there purely for their amusement. But by beginning my hike later in the day, I only passed a handful of mountain bikers and a couple of trail-joggers, and had long stretches of trail all to myself. I moved at a comfortable pace, slowing periodically to listen to the late-summer sounds of crickets and cicadas.
Towards the end of the hike, I experienced a bit of drama, the sort of thing that pretty much only happens when you slow down and move quietly through nature. Off to the side of the trail, I heard a small chirp and a light rustle of leaves. I stopped, thinking that I'd see a chipmunk dart away. Instead, I noticed a fat little brown toad in the leaves up against a small, partially decayed log. It was breathing heavily and straining itself forward and my first assumption was that it was frightened of me. Watching it, though, I realized that it was somehow caught where it was. It began trying to push forward with its front legs and the one hind leg that I could see. I moved a bit closer and began to reach down to pick it up. The thought suddenly struck me then that I might not want to do that, after all. The idea of picking it up and finding a snake attached to the leg I couldn't see gave me pause, so I pulled back and squatted down to continue watching, a slightly sick feeling growing in the pit of my stomach. Of course I wanted to help it, but how could I? If one of its legs was deep in a snake's throat, what could I do that wouldn't injure it further? And, even if I could free it somehow, that would mean depriving another creature of a meal that was essential to its survival. Life feeds on life, and we humans can't, shouldn't, always feel as if our interference is of benefit.
The little toad continued to try to pull itself away from whatever was holding it, emitting periodic chirping cries. It managed to get ahold of the log with its front legs and began to twist itself completely around, slowly pushing and shoving with all but that still invisible hind leg. Somehow, in doing so, it managed to free that leg and pull away. It took one or two short hops with the stuck leg held close to its body, then just sat there a few feet from me, breathing. I stood up slowly and took a step forward and, as I did so, I swear I saw a movement of some sort along the base of the log. The sun had sunk below the ridge behind me and the light in the woods was dim, so I have no idea what I actually saw. Was it the snake that had suddenly given up and let go? Or had the toad actually just slipped from the log and gotten its leg caught in a bit of loose bark? Since toads can't talk, I'll never know.
I ended up back at the car just before sunset. The last 1/2 mile or so through the dusky woods was bittersweet, as hiking at that time of day always is. I know I need to get back, but there's just something so appealing about being in the woods in the transition between day and night, something eerie yet comforting, that makes me want to slow down and soak in everything that's around me. It's the day saving the best for last.
Admiration
Could you move in slow motion?
Everything goes by so fast.
Just slow down a little,
Save the best part for last.
You speak in riddles,
Your intentions turn me on.
I'm yours forever,
Will you love me when I'm gone?
When I'm gone!
You're an unfenced fire!
Over walls we've trampled!
It's you I admire!
My living example
Your eyes are an undiscovered ocean far away.
Any minute now, keeping
Both poets and priests at bay.
Don't get ahead of me,
Could we just this once see eye to eye?
But your warmth, it haunts me.
Ask me how it feels to vie.
To vie!
You're an unfenced fire!
Over walls we trampled!
It's you I admire!
My living example
It's a photograph discovered a decade after.
It's a cannon blast disguised as a firecracker.
It's enough to bring a brick wall to its knees
And say please...
Could you move in slow motion?
Everything goes by so fast.
Just slow down a little,
Save the best part for last.
For last...
You're an unfenced fire!
Over walls we trampled!
It's you I admire!
My living example
My living example
It's you I admire!
My living example
May 1, 2008
Bikes, kayaks, nature and death
Ok, so, I continued this past weekend to break out of the oh-so-hardened shell of slothdom in which I'd been stuck the last several months, by heading to Maryland's eastern shore area for a kayaking/cycling trip with my buddies from the Team Estrogen cycling forum (Can I just say again how weird I feel posting at a site named for a female hormone? But anyway...). We all signed up for the Wild Goose Chase ride at Blackwater Wildlife Refuge and, since we've begun paddling together as well as pedaling, the idea immediately came up to bring our 'yaks along and make a multi-sport weekend of it.
A few of my favorite things...
Saturday's weather was gorgeous, and much warmer than any of us expected it to be. It was great to be on the water in such a beautiful place, and to stretch out little-used muscles in the smooth repetitive motions of paddling. Like cycling, kayaking can easily induce a meditative state through the synchrony of breath with motion, and of body with vehicle. Forward propulsion of a kayak is more than just windmilling a double-bladed paddle. It involves power through the shoulders, rotation of the torso, swiveling of the hips, and pressure through the legs in order to glide and maneuver your craft through the water. Once this combination of body functions becomes muscle-memory, it feels both exhilarating and peaceful to move so subtly through nature, with the different perspective that comes from being at water level. That perspective creates an intimacy with your surroundings that no noisy, vapor-spewing jet-skier will ever experience.
After about our half-dozenth bald eagle sighting, one member of our group wondered just what it is about those birds that so fascinates us. They're certainly not the most noble of creatures, being more scavenger than hunter. And, in places like Blackwater, they're nowhere near as rare as they used to be. But there is a majesty about them that derives from their size and the fierceness of their profile. Honestly, though, I get just as much of a kick out of watching vultures as from sighting eagles. The humble turkey vulture fascinates the heck out of me. Butt-ugly up close, vultures also have some fairly vile habits, such as projectile vomiting when frightened and peeing on their own legs to cool themselves in hot weather, in addition to their diet of carrion. But on the wing, a turkey vulture soars the thermals with as much grandeur as any eagle.
Overnight, Ma Nature turned Jekyll-and-Hyde on us and we woke Sunday morning to a grey sky, chilly temps, wind, and the threat of rain. My more ambitious cycling buddies left the motel at 7:30am to get an early start on the 65- and 40-mile routes, while I puttered about my room trying to maintain my motivation in the face of gloomy weather. I finally got my crap together and headed over to the ride start at about 9:00 or so. My intention going into the weekend was to attempt the 40-mile route, even though I haven't been on a ride of that length in over eight months, but the dreariness of the day influenced me to do the 25-miler instead. I started out spinning easily at a much higher speed than my typical average. Within a handful of miles, though, a turn in the road put us directly into a cross-wind and I immediately slowed down to my usual pace. Entering the refuge's Wildlife Drive a third of the way through the route, we were requested to reduce our speed even further, which made for a nice opportunity to meander along looking for wildlife. I had fun at one point watching a tiny swallow (bank swallow, perhaps?) swoop back and forth across the road in front of me for a quarter of a mile, before it finally veered off towards the marsh.
Back on the road, the cross-wind turned into a head-wind and I was forced to shift down almost to my granny-gear. I forgot to look at the weather report later that evening to find out what speed the gusts were-- probably nowhere near as strong as they felt, but enough to make the last several miles a struggle. It's apparently lame to describe cycling as a Zen-like activity, but I insist on doing it anyway. Even in the worst conditions, finding that perfect balance of rpm/mph that allows you to spin the pedals in smooth circles, like a second hand circling the face of a clock, can put even the snobbiest cyclist into a zone of mindless mindfulness. It's the rides when the legs lunge around the cranks in herky-jerky squares that are the hard ones. But when you find that sweet spot, even on a difficult or painful ride... Those are the rides that you look back on fondly, with no memory of effort or discomfort. Take one of those rides, throw in beautiful rural scenery (even with a grey sky), and I end up one happy puppy.
Believe it or not, I did bring my camera along on this trip. I just left it in the car while I was paddling and pedaling. Silly me. But there are a couple of old churches with cemeteries along Md Route 50 that I couldn't resist stopping at on the way home, and a few of the photos actually turned out somewhat decent.
What's left of Old White Marsh Episcopal Church
So sad, dead at 17 in 1792
A few of my favorite things...
Saturday's weather was gorgeous, and much warmer than any of us expected it to be. It was great to be on the water in such a beautiful place, and to stretch out little-used muscles in the smooth repetitive motions of paddling. Like cycling, kayaking can easily induce a meditative state through the synchrony of breath with motion, and of body with vehicle. Forward propulsion of a kayak is more than just windmilling a double-bladed paddle. It involves power through the shoulders, rotation of the torso, swiveling of the hips, and pressure through the legs in order to glide and maneuver your craft through the water. Once this combination of body functions becomes muscle-memory, it feels both exhilarating and peaceful to move so subtly through nature, with the different perspective that comes from being at water level. That perspective creates an intimacy with your surroundings that no noisy, vapor-spewing jet-skier will ever experience.
After about our half-dozenth bald eagle sighting, one member of our group wondered just what it is about those birds that so fascinates us. They're certainly not the most noble of creatures, being more scavenger than hunter. And, in places like Blackwater, they're nowhere near as rare as they used to be. But there is a majesty about them that derives from their size and the fierceness of their profile. Honestly, though, I get just as much of a kick out of watching vultures as from sighting eagles. The humble turkey vulture fascinates the heck out of me. Butt-ugly up close, vultures also have some fairly vile habits, such as projectile vomiting when frightened and peeing on their own legs to cool themselves in hot weather, in addition to their diet of carrion. But on the wing, a turkey vulture soars the thermals with as much grandeur as any eagle.
Overnight, Ma Nature turned Jekyll-and-Hyde on us and we woke Sunday morning to a grey sky, chilly temps, wind, and the threat of rain. My more ambitious cycling buddies left the motel at 7:30am to get an early start on the 65- and 40-mile routes, while I puttered about my room trying to maintain my motivation in the face of gloomy weather. I finally got my crap together and headed over to the ride start at about 9:00 or so. My intention going into the weekend was to attempt the 40-mile route, even though I haven't been on a ride of that length in over eight months, but the dreariness of the day influenced me to do the 25-miler instead. I started out spinning easily at a much higher speed than my typical average. Within a handful of miles, though, a turn in the road put us directly into a cross-wind and I immediately slowed down to my usual pace. Entering the refuge's Wildlife Drive a third of the way through the route, we were requested to reduce our speed even further, which made for a nice opportunity to meander along looking for wildlife. I had fun at one point watching a tiny swallow (bank swallow, perhaps?) swoop back and forth across the road in front of me for a quarter of a mile, before it finally veered off towards the marsh.
Back on the road, the cross-wind turned into a head-wind and I was forced to shift down almost to my granny-gear. I forgot to look at the weather report later that evening to find out what speed the gusts were-- probably nowhere near as strong as they felt, but enough to make the last several miles a struggle. It's apparently lame to describe cycling as a Zen-like activity, but I insist on doing it anyway. Even in the worst conditions, finding that perfect balance of rpm/mph that allows you to spin the pedals in smooth circles, like a second hand circling the face of a clock, can put even the snobbiest cyclist into a zone of mindless mindfulness. It's the rides when the legs lunge around the cranks in herky-jerky squares that are the hard ones. But when you find that sweet spot, even on a difficult or painful ride... Those are the rides that you look back on fondly, with no memory of effort or discomfort. Take one of those rides, throw in beautiful rural scenery (even with a grey sky), and I end up one happy puppy.
Believe it or not, I did bring my camera along on this trip. I just left it in the car while I was paddling and pedaling. Silly me. But there are a couple of old churches with cemeteries along Md Route 50 that I couldn't resist stopping at on the way home, and a few of the photos actually turned out somewhat decent.
What's left of Old White Marsh Episcopal Church
So sad, dead at 17 in 1792
April 25, 2007
Interesting encounters: Chris Cornell and a fox
Last night, I headed up to B'more to experience Chris Cornell performing live at Ram's Head. I passed up a couple of Audioslave shows over the last few years because I'm just not interested in experiencing music in an arena setting anymore. The one time I saw Soundgarden was at a Lollapalooza event (with The Ramones and Metallica, woo-hoo!!), and that was definitely a cool experience. My memories of SG's performance are hazy at best, since I spent most of their set in the mosh-pit (where I learned that I'm armpit height to the average male), but the entire day was an experience. And a few years ago, I saw a few shows on T00l's tour for Lateralus. One was general admission at an outdoor pavillion, the other two were in arenas. The pavillion show is the only one of the three that is firmly planted in my memory. There's just something about the energy of a general admission crowd that adds to a show, and it's even better in an intimate club setting. So, when Cornell seemingly threw this club tour together at a moment's notice, I was glad that I heard about it in time to snag a ticket the day they went on sale. If his new solo career follows the course begun with Audioslave, it may be the last chance to see him in an intimate venue.
I did hesitate a bit, I admit. Chris' voice has definitely shown signs of wear over the last several years. Something happened to his throat between Euphoria Morning and the first 'Slave album. While the new huskiness evident on tunes like "Cochise" and "What You Need" was definitely sexy, it concerned me. Then I started hearing live recordings in which it was obvious he was straining. Worst of all was a live performance after the second album, Out of Exile, was released. It was some VH1 award show or something, and Chris' voice cracked all over the place while singing "Doesn't Remind Me". I cringed watching it. Somehow, between Out of Exile and Revelations, though, he managed to gain some control over the situation. He sounded better on the new album, and live performances on the 'net had a smoothness to them I was afraid he'd lost. He's held onto that whiskeyed huskiness, but seems better able to hit those high notes he was once notorious for. So, I had a hard time keeping my expectations in check on the drive to B'more last night.
In a nutshell, the show was awesome. The fact that there were too many tall people between me and the stage, and that the sound mix was frustratingly muddy, couldn't detract from the fact that the man who's music has entranced me for 16 years was bouncing and prowling around the stage mere feet in front of me. I missed not hearing "Like Suicide", "Call Me a Dog" or "Zero Chance" (which I've heard he's performed at other shows this tour), but Chris put together a great selection of tunes nonetheless. A handful of SG Badmotorfinger classics, a couple of Temple of the Dog gems, his movie soundtrack treasures "Seasons" and "Sunshower", and a few tunes from his soon-to-be released 2nd solo album. It was hard to catch the emotion of his voice, between his mic being buried in the sound mix and everyone (myself included) singing along with every song, but it was obvious that he was having no issues hitting every note with intensity. I have to admit to being so caught up in the experience that I actually sang along with "No Such Thing" (from the new album, not impressive) and "Black Hole Sun" (the song for which SG is doomed to be remembered, not one of their best). And the more up-tempo, dramatic version of his "Billie Jean" cover was fantastic, much better than the slow, actually dull (my opinion, sorry) acoustic version I'd heard on the 'net.
I've got mixed expectations for Carry On, the new album coming out in June. Of the four tunes I've heard so far ("You Know My Name", "Billie Jean", "No Such Thing" & "Arms Around Your Love"), two of them are pretty weak lyrically, continuing a trend that concerned me on the 2nd & 3rd 'Slave albums. As much as I hate to say this, my impression is that sobriety has tempered Chris' poetic ability. The incredible imagery and metaphors of his past tunes have been repaced by a clear-eyed straightforwardness that just doesn't have the same impact. And he's picked up a disturbing habit of sophomoric rhyming. After last night's show, though, I'm more than willing to give the new album a chance to grow on me. I'll follow Chris' new direction for as far as I possibly can.
Today's encounter was much more sedate and quiet. I hit the woods for a hike, since last night left me too wiped out for a bike ride. So, I'm heading up a slight hill and I see something standing in the middle of the trail up ahead. At first I thought it was a dog, since most people who hike with their dogs aren't smart enough to keep them leashed, but then I realized it was a fox. It was just standing smack in the middle of the trail as calm as could be, watching me approach. At first, I froze, thinking it would be startled and take off. When it continued to just stand there, I slowly moved along the trail till I was a couple dozen feet from it, at which point we both stood there looking at each other. Then, the fox sat down. That floored me. It didn't appear to be injured or rabid or otherwise wacked out, it just wasn't concerned that I was there. I took a few tentative steps closer and it didn't budge. That is, until it decided to lie down. After a while, it even put it's head down and appeared to be napping. I had no choice but to stand there. Several minutes later, a squeak next to a nearby tree had the fox on it's feet. Had to be a mouse or a chipmunk. The fox, with no care for the fact that it was coming closer to me, trotted down the trail to stand next to the tree looking for the source of the squeak. It apparently didn't find it, because it soon plopped itself down on trail again, put it's head on it's paws, and re-commenced it's nap. It raised it's head once as I moved a few steps to sit on a rock near my section of the trail, but then closed it's eyes again.
About half an hour after our little party began, a full bladder convinced me that it was time to disturb the fox and continue on to the parking area and the porta-johns. I stood up and took a few steps forward. The fox raised it's head and looked at me, but didn't move. I took a few more steps and it realized the situation. It stood up and headed back up to where it was when I first saw it, where it turned and waited to see what I was going to do. I began slowly walking toward it, and it finally decided to move off into the mountain laurels bordering the trail. It didn't go far, though, and watched me as I passed. After a dozen or so feet, I turned back and saw it step back out onto the trail and down towards the tree where the mysterious squeak was sounded. I would have loved to have hung out and watched it for a while longer, but I had a 5:30pm chiro appointment and the urgings of my bladder to deal with. So, I hiked on.
That was somewhat dull in the telling, but it really was a very cool occurrence. On the heels of last night's Chris Cornell experience, it made for a pair of incidents I had to write about to preserve them in my memory.
You tell me I'm low 'cause I've slept on the floor,
And out in the woods with the badgers & wolves...
(Chris Cornell, "Call Me a Dog", Temple of the Dog)
December 24, 2006
On meeting a fox in the woods
I've had a few encounters with foxes while meandering through the woods in my area. While I know they're generally considered to be pretty intelligent animals with highly developed senses ( Red Fox: Reputation and Description ), the ones I've run across make me wonder. From my experience, they don't really seem to be all that aware of their surroundings:
Encounter #1 - One afternoon while hiking the Seneca Creek Greenway trail, I see a fox trotting along between me and the creek, heading at an angle that would cause it to cross the trail just in front of me if I were to continue walking. So, I stop and just watch it. It's no more than a couple dozen feet from me, but it's totally unaware that I'm nearby. Finally, I must have moved or something, because it stopped dead in its tracks, looked my way, then took off like a shot across the trail and into the woods.
Encounter #2 - Hiking once again along Seneca Creek, on a narrow stretch with the creek immediately to my right and a steep hill immediately to my left, I look up the hill and spot a fox making it's way down the hill toward the creek. Like the last time, I froze and watched it. Same drill as above, except this time the fox turned tail and ran back up the hill as fast as its little legs could go.
Encounter #3 - This one involved two deer as well as a fox, and was quite comical. I'm heading down a short hill towards a curve in the trail at Worthington Farm (part of Monocacy National Battlefield ) when I see off to the side of the trail what appears to be a fairly large, hump-shaped rock near a tree. It caught my attention because there were no other large rocks visible, just trees, undergrowth, and old rotted fenceposts. As I'm going along, I suddenly notice that this rock has ears. I realize that that's no rock, it's a fawn and it's watching me. As always when I catch sight of wildlife, I freeze in my tracks. Out of the corner of my eye now, I also see a fox heading from the left towards the fawn. It's busy watching the fawn and is oblivious to me. I figure this is gonna be cool, to see a fox pass by without startling it. Like the others above, it's just trottin' along, apparently wondering why this little fawn is beginning to look nervous. Suddenly, the fox, the fawn, and I all hear a loud snort off to the left behind the fox. A full-grown doe now bounds onto the scene, the fox spins to look at her, then catches sight of me watching all three of them and spins again, and the next thing I know the fox, the fawn, and the doe have all disappeared practically into thin air. I cracked up laughing and continued on with my hike.
Foxes may or may not be smart, but they sure are fun.
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