As you may have intuited from the title, today was exciting. I spent most of the day getting buildings ready for two nights of habitation by camp directors. Sounds snoozy, until you picture this: I’m driving toward Pioneer to get mattresses, and as I round the corner by Wishing Rock, who should come bounding into my vision but a huge black bear. It was easily the biggest one I’ve seen, beautiful and almost like a huge dog. For a moment we both stopped, unsure, and then it shot me a look that plainly said, “Uh-oh,” before bounding toward the treehouses and the river. I sat awhile in the truck, stomach all a-flutter, before turning around to tell Carlo.
On less exciting days I need to remember that there are moments like this when you work in the woods. Toward the end of this fall session, Mayfly, Lambchop, and I waded down the Sandy a few hundred feet to where the salmon were spawning. Shivering in our boots, we saw them darting upstream, floating back down, fighting, leaping in the waves, and moving fast as toothed torpedoes around our feet. All session Lambchop had expressed a certain hesitance about salmon. He didn’t like Chinooks’ massive bodies and massive teeth—or maybe I should say he didn’t like to think of swimming with them in the river.
But that night, as we were all sharing something special about the week, Lambchop explained how fantastic it had been to watch the salmon (these were Coho, by the way), and said something along the lines of, “That’s what I live for. That’s what I always want to have in my life.” And somehow this stuck with me—this image of Lambchop standing around this circle putting into words what all of us feel when we see salmon spawning—and the thing with the bear today was the same.
Sometimes when you’re hauling mattresses, and checking to make sure there’s enough toilet paper for a bunch of camp directors, you can get a little bored. When it’s cold enough outside that your gloved fingers refuse to move, and you know your cabin will never warm up, things can seem kind of bleak, and Portland can seem kind of appealing. But then you see this bear, and it makes your heart skip. You’re afraid, but ecstatic, and you want to know where it’s going, where it sleeps, what it’s been eating, why it’s been hanging out by the lodge and the treehouses. Even when one of the mattresses you’re hauling has clearly been smeared with vomit, and it gets all over your shirt, you’ve got this secret weapon: I saw a bear today. Even when you discover that the squirrels have chewed through your insulation and new ceiling panel, you’ve got this inner gloating: I saw a bear today (which could chomp those little squirrels if it chose). Even though it’s freezing now, and the sound of rain on the roof means tomorrow will be lots of work, not much matters: I saw a bear today.
It’s not like I’m proud—seeing this bear took absolutely no skill or knowledge on my part—but I do feel lucky, and I do see it like otter tracks: A glimpse into the rightness of the way I’ve chosen to spend this winter. And I also feel lucky that I was in the trusty little truck.
P.S. Here's a picture of my olive oil as I found it in my chilly cabin this morning.
1 comment:
So now it's the TLT?
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