on my walk...

I had only 24 hours on the island this past week. I said to myself, "Since your time here is so brief, you must go for your walk from downtown to three corners and back; you will regret it if you don't go." But another part of me -- too tired from my journey -- complained and stalled and made up a list of excuses to not go out into the cold, damp world outside. 

In this post, where I borrow the style from Marie-Louise Gay's "On my island," I poke fun at myself revealing the gap between: (1) my predictions about my walk that are so grumpy they could rival those pessimistic grumblings of  Winnie-the-Pooh's friend, Eeyore: and (2) my cold-on-face-tingling, fresh-air-breathing, spirit-uplifting reality while on my walk. There is no question --after the fact -- that a walk was exactly what I needed, but I had to walk the walk before I knew which voice was true.

My inner gloom-forecasting "voice" is shown below in italicized text and my body's "voice" (my feet on the pavement, hands on camera, and eyes looking around) is represented by a series of photographs. I have  made no effort to reconcile the contrast between my two "voices." I only have recorded them as faithfully as I can and let them have their way with each other. I hope you will enjoy coming along on my walk...

Do I really want to go on a walk this cold, drizzly, mid-November morning?
(These were my reasons to NOT walk...)

On my walk, I will be depressed by the absence of summer greens. 

The whole landscape will be grey and colourless. 

The side of the road will be slippery from the overnight rainstorm...

...and all that will remain will be a mix of mud and dead grass.

I will see only rotten, ugly leaves on the roadside.

And the withered branches will look dead...

...and be 

depressingly 

bare.

I will be bored by the "same old, same old..."

... and there will be nothing -- absolutely nothing -- to photograph.

So do  I really want to go on my walk?

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 *******           Oceanwood Chronicles                                 credits and links             *******
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Photo credit: Photos by Jessica at Oceanwood.

Book credit: On my island, written by Marie-Louise Gay, wrote this ironic tale of a child who laments that "nothing, absolutely nothing ever happens on my island" all the while fascinating and fabulous adventures are happening -- unseen by the sulking child -- behind her back.

Oceanwood Chronicles, copyright 2010 - Jessica at Oceanwood. Creative commons attribution, non-commercial sharing only (translation: feel free to quote me in context or use this entry but please always credit me for my work, thanks.) http://oceanwood.blogspot.com/

The Brothers

The two deer in this photo frequented our lawn over this past summer. By the looks of their antlers, they appear to be the same age -- and I am guessing they are brothers. Perhaps they are the all-grown-up, speckled, twin fawns we ooohed and aaahed over on Spring Break?

Most years I see a doe and twins in our neighbourhood. Though, I have never seen those twins stick together as they grow up and hang out as adults-- especially not two bucks. I wonder what keeps these two in each others company.

Deer are everywhere on Denman Island. I find driving the roads at night to be an exercise in extreme vigilance and is more challenging than the typical night time city driving. At least in city driving the usual threats come from other drivers, who mostly -- thank heavens -- stay in their prescribed lanes. But deer can leap out into my truck's way at seemingly random moments and follow zigzag paths that I find unpredictable. I never know from which road-side bush a deer might bound. As a precaution when driving at night, therefore, I am on full alert expecting chance deer encounters. The deer have trained me to expect the unexpected. I like that these beings have force me into greater alertness when driving -- an admirable habit that I wish could follow me into the city on all those very long and boring commutes.

I will tell you a story: 

We live in an earth home which means our roof is covered in grass. We are one of the very few people on Denman who have to mow their roof. One dark, new moon night, I was just settling down into bed, with my baby asleep beside me; my cat curled up at my feet; and my husband away on a business trip. I was still getting used to solo-parenting my new babe and was feeling new-mom-nervous and edgy. I turned out the light and lay down. My feet began praising the sensation of no longer being stood upon while my back started revelling in the total absence of bending, twisting, and carrying, when I heard a thunderous "BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM," from overhead.  Now I have lived in apartment buildings, and stayed in hotels, and I can assure you that these were not those kind of BOOMs. These BOOMs were much louder and scarier.

So ignoring the objections of my wrecked back, I bolted upright, clicked on the light and sat paralyzed, my heart racing so fast I felt like I was having a heart attack. The cat, also, sat up stiff and alert mirroring my alarm. But a few seconds later, I heard a further: "plunk, plunk, plunk, plunk" from above my ceiling. And a few seconds after that, an additional round of "plunk, plunk, plunk, plunk." It took me only a moment to figure out the source of these noises. I burst out laughing: a doe and two fawns -- not unlike the two brothers above -- were taking a short cut across our roof to find some night-time grazing. I was incredulous that our doe's graceful, pencil thin legs could drum up so much deep sonorous sound from our roof top. And I was enormously relieved to hear those fawn-leg echos confirming the exact nature of the wildlife above my head. It took me sometime for my adrenaline levels to subside and for me to get to sleep that night as I lay awake visualizing the family above my head going about their domestic life.

That night, I might have lost some precious mommy-sleep but its an experience I will never forget. Now whenever I see a deer gracefully leap over neighbour's fences looking apparently "light-on-their-feet," I bring to mind the lead-heavy sound I heard overhead that dark night. I marvel at how strong a deer's legs must be to launch that much weight so high into the air. Sometimes, on rare occasions over the years, I have heard encores of deer's drum rolls on our roof; only now instead of fear, I feel only awe at living so close with Nature.

**********************************************************************************************************
*******           Oceanwood Chronicles                                 credits and links             *******
***********************************************************************************************************

Photo credit: Photos by Jessica at Oceanwood.

Oceanwood Chronicles, copyright 2010 - Jessica at Oceanwood. Creative commons attribution, non-commercial sharing only (translation: feel free to quote me in context or use this entry but please always credit me for my work, thanks.) http://oceanwood.blogspot.com/