Photo by David Selbert : https://www.pexels.com/photo/wild-moose-hiding-behind-tree-in-forest-7516974/
Dear Friends,
Wandering is my favorite. It makes me happy. When I'm stuck, sad, mad or just confused, it comforts me. The only problem when I'm in those moods is I have to force myself to wander.
Wandering can be walking, horseback riding, driving by-ways and back roads to no where, or just meandering around your yard. It's an escape, but in the very best way. It's when my mind opens, my imagination soars and anything and everything is possible. It's medicine. A lifeline.
I"m lucky enough to have a friend who likes to wander on horseback with me. When we hit the trails we only stay on the actual trail for a short time. Then it's off trail. Better yet, we go off-off trail. Bushwhacking.
There's no destination in mind. We are Tom Sawer and Huck Finn. I feel like a little girl again wandering through the cow pastures and woods surrounding the trailer park with my best friends.
There's a neighborhood moose in a particular area we ride. She's rough. And big. Her name is Edna Andrews. We try to avoid her. The horses aren't fond of her, in fact they have a healthy dose of fear concerning her, unlike the ridiculous angst over a certain plant or log. The last time we rode we caught a glimpse of her. She sneered and walked away. I don't know if that is always the case.
This ride we caught a peek of her but we heard her first. She was pretty low on the hill today. We stopped and waited. Slowly we began to switchback our way up. Every once in awhile we would make yipping sounds to move her along. We didn't want trouble. But, were we stalking her?
If Edna were a human she would be one of those ladies who looks much older than she actually is. I suspect she would have small pink rollers with the tissue around it in her hair and topped with a bit of dippity-doo for fun. She wears faded pink slippers and a floral moo moo. A cigarette would dangle from her mouth and her eyes, well, they've seen a lot. She talks like a sailor, and by golly if she has to endure on more can of Dinty Moore beef stew she just might snap.
That's Edna.
Wandering is my favorite. It makes me happy. When I'm stuck, sad, mad or just confused, it comforts me. The only problem when I'm in those moods is I have to force myself to wander.
Wandering can be walking, horseback riding, driving by-ways and back roads to no where, or just meandering around your yard. It's an escape, but in the very best way. It's when my mind opens, my imagination soars and anything and everything is possible. It's medicine. A lifeline.
I"m lucky enough to have a friend who likes to wander on horseback with me. When we hit the trails we only stay on the actual trail for a short time. Then it's off trail. Better yet, we go off-off trail. Bushwhacking.
There's no destination in mind. We are Tom Sawer and Huck Finn. I feel like a little girl again wandering through the cow pastures and woods surrounding the trailer park with my best friends.
There's a neighborhood moose in a particular area we ride. She's rough. And big. Her name is Edna Andrews. We try to avoid her. The horses aren't fond of her, in fact they have a healthy dose of fear concerning her, unlike the ridiculous angst over a certain plant or log. The last time we rode we caught a glimpse of her. She sneered and walked away. I don't know if that is always the case.
This ride we caught a peek of her but we heard her first. She was pretty low on the hill today. We stopped and waited. Slowly we began to switchback our way up. Every once in awhile we would make yipping sounds to move her along. We didn't want trouble. But, were we stalking her?
If Edna were a human she would be one of those ladies who looks much older than she actually is. I suspect she would have small pink rollers with the tissue around it in her hair and topped with a bit of dippity-doo for fun. She wears faded pink slippers and a floral moo moo. A cigarette would dangle from her mouth and her eyes, well, they've seen a lot. She talks like a sailor, and by golly if she has to endure on more can of Dinty Moore beef stew she just might snap.
That's Edna.
Um, she's intimidating for sure. Her life is rough. Catastrophic disasters both natural and unnatural, one right after another beat her down. But, she's a survivor. Dodging hunters and creepy hikers keep her chronically sore. She's not sad, she's tired. I feel like if one more thing happens to her she would turn into Miles Finch from Elf. "You feeling strong my friend? Call me Elf one more time." Then she charges. She's an angry elf, I mean moose.
Even though she's tired and angry with the world, there's a little spark in her which nudges her along. A wildflower, or a puffy cloud in the form of an angel. For crying out loud she's not suicidal, just occasionally homicidal. Beware wanderers.
Her days are filled with foraging, avoiding intruders and trying to find a safe place to nap. The weather is as fickle as, well, the weather. The ticks are freeloaders, the coyotes are annoying and those dang turkeys are making a racket with their constant gobble- gobble-gobbling. It's enough to make a girl pull her hair out. Unless you have the torturous pink rollers in your hair. Edna is in need of a makeover, but not because of her looks. Her attitude.
As she wanders through the trees she comes across a little clearing. You know the kind of place where the darlings of the forest dwell. "The deer" she said with dripping sarcasm. The precious deer with the reputation of innocence and love. They get all the glory. It irks her. If she was one of those dad gum turkeys it would ruffle her feathers. If she was one of the pesky coyotes it would raise her hackles. By the way, these days they look fat, healthy and professionally groomed. What I'm trying to say is the deer prancing around with their prestige and image which is held in high esteem is on her last nerve.
In this clearing is a hole. A big rectangular hole. It's about 6 feet long, 4 feet wide and 6 feet deep. Um, is this an empty grave? There's a shovel and pick in there. Whoever dug this left in haste. Is it a hoax? Is it some kind of elaborate geocaching game? The last thing she needs is a gaggle of marauders decimating her forest. Perhaps she could hide and when these intruders come back she would charge at them pushing them into the grave. Well that thought put a smirk on her face. There's hope yet that she will get laugh lines. But this is not the time for vanity. "What in tar nation is this hole doing in my forest?"
All of a sudden it hits her on the head. Nope, it's a nut the squirrel dropped on her. Bastard. What if this is an omen or a sign? The apparition that appears is levitating and much larger than her. Its face is covered in an all black robe. Of course it's all black.
Is this Cousin It? Or is it a bloody Dementor from Hogwarts? Good grief. Or...is it the Ghost of Christmas yet to come? Does this mean when she wakes from this nightmare she'll feel pressure to buy the biggest, fattest goose for Tiny Tim and give Bob Cratchet a raise?
This is too much for Edna. She paws at the ground. Okay, okay I get it. I get it. A transformation is needed, but dang it, I'm not a butterfly.
I suppose I could become a bit, just a bit mind you like my cousin the deer, but I won't go as far as my other cousin the reindeer. The Fame from Christmastime has gone to their antlers. I can find joy in the berries and those juicy bugs I like so much. If I see an unwanted visitor perhaps I can snort real loud and walk the other way. I make no promises. But I will compromise and only charge on occasion. Yes, that's what I'll do.
Thank you grave in the middle of my forest. As Dickens would say, "No space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunity misused."
She took it to heart and carried on.
We never did run into her again on that particular ride. We did get a glimpse and that's enough for me. She may be cranky,
but she's quite impressive. Perhaps we can all learn a thing or two from Ms. Edna Anderson.
Sincerely,
Kelly
Even though she's tired and angry with the world, there's a little spark in her which nudges her along. A wildflower, or a puffy cloud in the form of an angel. For crying out loud she's not suicidal, just occasionally homicidal. Beware wanderers.
Her days are filled with foraging, avoiding intruders and trying to find a safe place to nap. The weather is as fickle as, well, the weather. The ticks are freeloaders, the coyotes are annoying and those dang turkeys are making a racket with their constant gobble- gobble-gobbling. It's enough to make a girl pull her hair out. Unless you have the torturous pink rollers in your hair. Edna is in need of a makeover, but not because of her looks. Her attitude.
As she wanders through the trees she comes across a little clearing. You know the kind of place where the darlings of the forest dwell. "The deer" she said with dripping sarcasm. The precious deer with the reputation of innocence and love. They get all the glory. It irks her. If she was one of those dad gum turkeys it would ruffle her feathers. If she was one of the pesky coyotes it would raise her hackles. By the way, these days they look fat, healthy and professionally groomed. What I'm trying to say is the deer prancing around with their prestige and image which is held in high esteem is on her last nerve.
In this clearing is a hole. A big rectangular hole. It's about 6 feet long, 4 feet wide and 6 feet deep. Um, is this an empty grave? There's a shovel and pick in there. Whoever dug this left in haste. Is it a hoax? Is it some kind of elaborate geocaching game? The last thing she needs is a gaggle of marauders decimating her forest. Perhaps she could hide and when these intruders come back she would charge at them pushing them into the grave. Well that thought put a smirk on her face. There's hope yet that she will get laugh lines. But this is not the time for vanity. "What in tar nation is this hole doing in my forest?"
All of a sudden it hits her on the head. Nope, it's a nut the squirrel dropped on her. Bastard. What if this is an omen or a sign? The apparition that appears is levitating and much larger than her. Its face is covered in an all black robe. Of course it's all black.
Is this Cousin It? Or is it a bloody Dementor from Hogwarts? Good grief. Or...is it the Ghost of Christmas yet to come? Does this mean when she wakes from this nightmare she'll feel pressure to buy the biggest, fattest goose for Tiny Tim and give Bob Cratchet a raise?
This is too much for Edna. She paws at the ground. Okay, okay I get it. I get it. A transformation is needed, but dang it, I'm not a butterfly.
I suppose I could become a bit, just a bit mind you like my cousin the deer, but I won't go as far as my other cousin the reindeer. The Fame from Christmastime has gone to their antlers. I can find joy in the berries and those juicy bugs I like so much. If I see an unwanted visitor perhaps I can snort real loud and walk the other way. I make no promises. But I will compromise and only charge on occasion. Yes, that's what I'll do.
Thank you grave in the middle of my forest. As Dickens would say, "No space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunity misused."
She took it to heart and carried on.
We never did run into her again on that particular ride. We did get a glimpse and that's enough for me. She may be cranky,
but she's quite impressive. Perhaps we can all learn a thing or two from Ms. Edna Anderson.
Sincerely,
Kelly
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