Country Morning

Before I even open my eyes, I hear the birds singing outside.  There’s a breeze coming in through the window.  I think how unusual that is for July, but I’m not complaining.  Daisy is stirring, she wants to go outside.  My husband calls to her and he takes her out to her favorite spot.   A moment later, I hear the door open once again and the sound of her prancing happily back to the bedroom.  She always makes a beeline on these mornings when he is the one to take her out.  She needs to make sure I’m still there waiting for her.  Her cold nose is nudging me now, telling me it’s time to get up.  “Okay, okay.”  I reassure her and pull on some warmer clothes before going to the kitchen.  She follows behind, waiting for her breakfast and hoping for a treat. 

A replay of the Country Music Awards is on the television in the living room.  I watch Miranda Lambert and think “it’s time for Blake to start worrying.”   She looks amazing and I’m happy for her.  She has just become an inspiration for millions of mom’s who struggled with those child-bearing years.  “Good for you, Miranda!”

I put the teapot up on the stove and look outside and see the mountain beyond the clearing in the trees.  It’s so quiet up here now.  Just a few years ago there were neighbors on both sides of us, each with children running around.  The kids had plenty of adventures up here, finding salamanders in creeks, imagining and building camps, walking along dirt roads, forging friendships with kids they only see during the summers and experiencing a simpler life than we have back in suburbia.  Most of the homes in this community are vacation homes.  The families come here to get away from the cities and the crowds.  But now, although both properties are still owned by the same owners, one family has divorced and moved away while the other has moved to a bigger home for their growing family.   All of the children are grown now.   Even our own are not with us this weekend. 

I take my tea outside and sit on the deck watching the chipmunks navigate the treacherous route through the trees to the bird feeder.  They hang like trapeze artists and stealthily fill their cheeks with seeds.  Some trickle down to the ground below but the chipmunks will make sure the surplus does not go to waste.

We decide to take a walk through the woods to the place where my husband’s trail camera is stationed on a tree.  It is activated by a motion detector and it has taken some amazing photos of deer, bear, and coyote.  We want to measure a tree that a bear stood up next to so that we can determine how tall the bear was.  As we walk through the trees, we pass by the old 1940’s car that has been silently decaying in the middle of the forest.  How it got there and why it was left there is a mystery.  But I like that it is there, I like imagining it’s story and have come up with some fantastical explanations.  We pass the old car and come to the tree in front of the camera.  By our estimation, the bear must have been about six and a half feet tall.  That is a decent size for a black bear of the region but not as large as it had seemed in the photographs. 

I walk a little further and look down the edge of a cliff to the peaceful stream below.  It bubbles and meanders slowly through the woods.  The leaves around me flutter in the breeze and I take in a deep breath.  There is nothing like standing in a place that is so isolated from the rest of the world and feeling yourself become one with nature.  After a few precious moments more, we return to the house.  Daisy greets us with joy and relief that we have returned. 

The weekend is over.  It is time to leave and return to the real world.