THE BEAR WENT OVER THE MOUNTAIN

Did the Bear leave these marks
as she climbed?

ON A PARTICULAR MOUNTAIN IN VIRGINIA, THE TREES ARE MAYBE NOT SO MUCH TALLER THAN WE HAVE AT HOME, BUT STRETCHED OUT, THE LIMBS THINNER, MORE SPACE BETWEEN THEM. The canopy is higher and the understory is more airy and full of light, not full of brambles like at home. Hickory, Various Pines, Tulip Poplar, and Black Walnut grow on the hillside. Spinneys of Rhododendron and Mountain Laurel fill out the landscape. Large ferns soften the mulch-covered ground. It's damp enough here that the streams still run and mushrooms still grow, popping up in bright colors from forest floor. Big chunks of quartz, sometimes bright white, sometimes tinged with a rusty color, peek out from the soil.

 

The canopy is higher...

We find plenty to explore on this mountain, one morning walking along the ridge until we get to the road, the winding, two lane highway that brought us here. We find bear scat and the prints of deer. Jack shows us how to tell the buck's prints from the doe's. My father-in-law is a hunter and knows these things, though we differ in opinion about whether my dog could catch a turkey if she wanted to. I sit on a boulder to enjoy the view for a moment and a slender lizard striped in bright colors slips like liquid into a crack in the rock.

...and the understory more airy
and full of light.

Later we put on water shoes and follow the stream that runs through the valley. Ursula runs ahead, joyously rooting in the bank and scaring up birds. My dog is a water dog at heart and she is in her element here. We find a pool in a crook of the stream and sit down for a cooling soak. We skip stones and pull limbs and other debris out of the water and throw it onto the bank to decay there and add to the musky humus of the forest floor. We take the stream all the way to the property line, then take a path up the hill that circles around before heading home to a ping pong tournament and dinner.

The next day we drive to a larger river and pile into three canoes, one for each generation. The river is wider than our stream, but no deeper and our boats scrape bottom pretty often. The drought is not so apparent here, but here nonetheless. The river is quiet and we enjoy the peaceful floating downstream, floating through the scenery as it unwinds with very little effort from us, just an occasional stroke to steer away from a place where ripples in the water reveal the shallows. Michael and I were in the first canoe, and at the bend of the river we came silently upon a Great Blue Heron standing like a statue until we were 15 yards away, then spread his magnificent wings and mutely lifted off to fly upstream. At another bend we came upon him again with his mate, and we followed them downriver for half an hour or so, creeping up to within a few yards before they flew. This repeated 7 or 8 times until eventually, they tired of our company and flew back upriver, the way we had all come, to be shed of our disruptions.

Later, up at the house, the kids found some scars on a tree—three sets of four parallel stripes cut into the bark and healed over. Did the bear leave these marks when she climbed the tree? We know the bear is in the neighborhood, because Jack saw her one day in the bottomland, chewing on a different tree. He showed us those marks, on a limb about 7 feet up. These, however, look more dramatic, and tell a different story. Is it fact or fancy? What dramas do these mountains hold?

Shadows on a Stone

That evening, in Floyd, we found a country store with an old fashioned candy counter. It was a blend of history with a modern, thriving arts community. On Fridays they host a Jamboree with traditional Appalachian music and clogging, the traditional dance. Sadly, we have to leave before Friday comes, but will plan the next trip to be sure we can make it for the festivities.

Dance in Beauty; Float in Peace:
Blessed Be.

ROGUE HARVEST

WE HAVE LEFT THE DROUGHT BEHIND TO VISIT OUR FAMILY IN THE BLUE RIDGE MOUNTAINS OF VIRGINIA. We started in the middle of the night and got into Ohio just as the sun was coming up. This was Ursula's first big trip with us, and she was sleeping in the back. My dog comes up to Chicago with us often, but that's only a short jaunt. She is quiet and patient in the car. At rest stops she is eager for a walk and water, a little break from lying down. But we hadn't thought ahead about what we would do for a longer stop for a late breakfast. We decided to take turns in the restaurant. I wasn't particularly hungry, so Ursa and I went on a walk around the cluster of chain restaurants. I'm not fond of chains, since they are all the same no matter if you're in the mountains or the prairie or the seaside or the middle of nowhere. But here at the sausage place on the border of Ohio and West Virginia I made a discovery. I had noticed before that sometimes at the corporate chains, you can find poorly pruned apple trees amongst the ubiquitous flowering crabs, but here, with time to ponder, as I walked my little black dog I figured out why. These chains tend to landscape with what they probably think of as low maintenance trees, hence the flowering crabs. But if you just plant a crab and don't prune it, it will sometimes revert back to the apple tree in the rootstock. These apples may be smaller, and more on the tart side, but they are very respectable eating and great for pie making.

How do I really feel about these corporations that suck the culture out of a region and wash it with a deadening homogeneity? Well, “hate” is a very strong word. Let's just say that I dislike immensely to drive 8 hours to arrive at a restaurant identical to the one at home. But here, in a cardboard, artificial community encompassing the sausage place, the 24 hour breakfast place, a couple of hotels and gas stations, and a drive through taco place and a couple of burger joints, I figure I can pinch a few apples if I happen to find them. Clearly nobody else wants them, except maybe a rogue squirrel or a rat that frequents the dumpsters out back of each of these places. I fill my arms with apples and hope that another sharp-eyed baker of pies will find the rest. 

Back on the road, over hills and under them, we find ourselves on a two lane highway snaking through the mountains. Here, everything is green, and flowers bloom as they do in my dreams. I believe the Blue Ridge Mountains also suffer from a drought, but not as heavily as we suffer in the Midwest. At any rate, the ramble of Black Eyed Susans at the side of the road gave me a melancholy homesickness for what I didn't have at home. We arrive in time for hugs and a tour around the hunting lodge turned family homestead, and a walk down the path to see the remains of an even older dwelling. Nothing left but the stone fireplace and chimney, about 30 feet tall. A great place, we are told, for a barbeque picnic, especially in the winter, and it sounds lovely. Ursula thinks she is in heaven, tearing ahead on the path and racing up the hills. In the fading daylight we find our way home to dinner. Inside we are temporarily distracted with catching up and visiting, and my dog snatches two steaks from the counter before being caught. Babs, ever the hostess, graciously brushes off our apologies, and she and I rethink the menu, cubing the meat and piercing it alternately with mushrooms and peppers for shish-kebabs. Ursula sleeps off her crime, while we talk and visit and eat and drink into the night.

 In the morning, Ursa and I take a walk down the path and scare up a turkey family. They crossed the path about 20 yards ahead of us, 2 or 3 adults and several half grown poults. My dog took off, but then thought better of the chase when I called her back. Then I thought better of an early morning walk with just the two of us. It's not that I don't want to meet the resident bear; I do. I just don't want to meet him alone, or even with a silly dog. Even with one who looked exactly like a bear cub when she was little. Even one who shares his name.

RAMBLE IN BEAUTY;
WANDER IN PEACE;
BLESSED BE!

LETTER TO BIRDLAND

 By Ursula

SOMETHING IS GOING ON. She went to bed as soon as we put the chickens in. Now that I know what She wants, I can be very helpful. She wants me to watch very carefully and wait, making sure all of those goofy birds go in. Sometimes they get right up to the door, but then lose heart, silly birds. Then I have to chase them around the coop again, only slowly, slowly. She walks behind me, speaking softly. We are a good team. But then She went straight to bed. Something is going on.

They were putting things in the car. The young one, too. Last time this happened They went away. I went back and forth, back and forth, trying to tell them with my eyes, “Don't go away.” Last time the one who came gave me food and pats, but I was worried. They were gone a long time.

He is cooking. It smells good, and maybe He will go out and leave the meat. I will lie here and pretend to sleep, but I am watching. It smells good. Why is he cooking after dark? Are they leaving again?

Now they are all sleeping. And the food is way up high in a box where I can't reach it. What is going on?!?

 She is up. Turning on lights. She goes from room to room, turning on lights. I think she is angry. No, frustrated. She wants them to do something. Finally they understand. Why are they getting up in the dark? They go back and forth, carrying things to the car. They open the back where I sit sometimes! I jump up! I jump up! I am a good dog! They go back inside, but the door is still open. Guys? Guys? Where are you going?

THE GROUND GOES UP
TO THE SKY!

 We are all in the car! I am going! It is dark and I sleep. I sleep. The car goes. It goes. The light comes and we go. I see cars chasing us. I see color and light and cars. She comes and puts the nose leash on me. It's not my favorite thing, but walking is my favorite thing. Walking and nose leash. Water. Smells. Dogs!! We go in the car, we go on a walk. One time He and The Young Ones went inside. She and I stayed out. She found an apple tree. I found a puddle in a sea of cement. It was more water than we've had at home in awhile. I lay down in it and had a good soak. He came out and we sat by a tree while She went in and got the young ones.

I AM A VERY GOOD DOG!

 Now we all get out! No leash! More people who smell good. I get pats. We go on a big walk with no leash! Trees! The ground goes straight up to the sky! A big puddle that rushes. I go in. I smell fish, frogs, birds, so many good things. We go inside and no one is watching. I smell meat. I can reach it. So much meat! I stand up, just to smell. It is good meat! So good. I see another one! Oh. Uh-oh. I am a bad dog! Bad dog! She is angry? Disappointed. Embarrassed! They cut up the meat I left and make shishkebabs instead. I am so sleepy! I sleep. I sleep.

EAT IN BEAUTY;
RUN IN PEACE;
BLESSED BE!

It is day and He gets up, but she sleeps. I wait for Her. When She gets up, I bark. Hurry up! Hurry up! She pours my food and says, “wait.” I wait. I am a good dog. She says, “Ok,” and I eat. I follow Her outside and we go down the trail. So many morning noises. I see a big chicken. And another. I run. They cross the trail with smaller chickens. She says, “wait.” I want to get them for the coop, but I wait. I am a good dog. I am a very good dog.