Good Neighbors

My wildlife neighbors

Good Neighbors

I built it here, next to the pond, by a sturdy water oak, my little house, with it’s poplar plank porch facing the water.  There are two man sized, unfinished rockers there. They wait for me and sometimes I visit.

A hawk screams out as she sits in the top of a persimmon tree.  Nestlings answer from a distant oak. She flies to them. I met her on a clear day.  She flew in circles opposite her mate. Higher and higher they went into the blue and sometimes through the white clouds.  I strained my eyes, tracking them until they were specks of black against the sky. Then they were gone, hidden from my intruding stare.  They were alone, just as she had intended.

The frogs and the crickets sing in the evenings. A bobwhite calls out for his lover.  She answers from across the field. Closer and closer he moves toward her, calling and listening and flying then walking, until they find each other.  I don’t see them but I know from what I hear.

The invisible varmints come when I sleep.  They plunder my porch, tipping over and scattering items left by me.  I find their mess in the mornings. I imagine a coon, a rat, a possum or a weasel chewing plastic and rummaging through my junk.  There’s nothing for them but they keep looking.

When I catch and clean fish, I leave the heads, guts and bones in the grass for the buzzards and ants.  In a day they come and take away the mess. I open my door and hear the rush of giant black wings as they lift off and scatter over the field and pond.  They’re good neighbors. They only come when invited and they never stay too long. I can’t say the same for the ants.

Deer come and go mostly unnoticed but on a cool rainy morning I saw her standing by the pond.  Her brown and white spotted fawn came up behind her. The doe looked at me and snorted then instantly they were gone.  

As the sun starts to set, the doves come to roost in the pines next to the pond.  They call out as the wind dies and the light fades. I can’t tell what they say but they must be calling to friends and family.  “Come home. Come sit beside me.”

And then if I’m up too late, after the frogs and the insects have settled down, I hear him calling over and over again, echoing through the trees and across the fields, the only call left, the whip-poor-will.  The whole world listens and wonders. Every other creature is in awe of him, his patience, his constance, his loneliness. I think to join him, to call out but with what voice, I cannot tell. I wait with him and long for an answer.

Author's Note

Feel Free

Reviews

[Samuel Dickens]

Stuck in a small town neighborhood, your little cabin out in nature sounds like a dream to me. Not since my youth have I lived so, and that was long ago. Especially, your mention of persimmons made it sound like home. Wanna trade neighbors? Mine have noisy lawnmowers and slamming car doors.

[busterlee]

My life has been and continues to be an incredible sequence of ups and downs. I try to learn from my experience. I try to appreciate the beauty that I find, wherever it is. I find myself remembering and appreciating the wonders that I've experienced in my life. I left my cabin behind but it's still with me. I'll not forget it.