Sitting in the shade of a big bush while the kids build their “animal shack research lab” for the wildlife they find and catch. So far they have a tiny tree frog carefully kept in a peanut butter jar, named Goldie for her color. They also have a table and the outline of walls.Their activity has sent any other obvious wildlife into hiding. Of course, the gunshots from the back porch target shooting have a way of leaving utter silence in their wake.
As human activity quiets I can hear the faint peeps and chirps of birds some distance away, the occasional buzz of a passing insect and the far off call of what I presume is a donkey.
Wandering away from the house I happen upon three or four birds - I think they’re young wild turkeys - perfect tawny camouflage in the dry brown grasses. They slowly wander away from me but don’t seem bothered by the constant noise of child play that echoes out over the land. (The gunshots have ceased - the men like most to look at and hold the antique guns they’ve exercised.)
The sloped land is uneven with plenty of creature holes. I’m not sure I want to know who lives where. A rodent here, a rodent there and a reptile over there for sure. Where the grasses haven’t been mown for fire safety they stand two feet high, alternating with patches where weather or foot has pressed them down. I watch carefully where I put my feet for holes, poison oak and creatures. This part of the property that hasn’t been cleared of trees in an open oak forest with an occasional struggling pine. Here the oaks rule.
Everything here is dry now except for the trees and the oak seedlings. Pine seedlings look like they may not survive, at least not well. I’ve mad a perch of a large outcropping covered in dry crunchy moss. I guess it must hold the hidden potential to come alive once the rains start. Next to the outcropping is a small bushy plant that reminds me of the sage in my herb garden. Long dusty green leaves that seem impervious to drought.
(“I caught a grasshopper!” echoes down the hill amidst other excited cries...)
I better get back to the house to clear my negs - I forgot to bring along a baggie and I’d cry if they dried out and were a loss...
Judith Monroe, Wanderings journal
