Mergansers. Unless they are ruddy ducks. Or, you know, something like that. Josie likes to greet them as soon as he hits water.
Toad. One of several lurking. I have to be careful when mowing.
Daisy and Buttercup. Wild things getting along.
Tortoises. All over the place. Making tracks. I like the idea that this land we live on is really just the back of a tortoise. That we all live atop a turtle’s shell. But on what does the turtle live?
Roses. Bees, something like 37 species. Flies, 800 species of fly. Mosquitoes, a few thousand or million just all that one species: pesky. And butterflies, big and small. Insects, in general. A plethora. The incessant movement of insects. The wild, ecstatic buzzing of insects. Ah, but the roses smell so sweet. I like this passage from Farley Mowat’s People of the Deer:
Yet we were forced to wear sweaters and even caribou skin jackets. The flies did that to us. They rose from the lichens at our feet until they hung like a malevolent mist about us and took on the appearance of a low-lying cloud. Milugia (black flies) and kiktoriak (mosquitoes) came in such numbers that their presence actually gave me a feeling of physical terror. There was simply no evading them. ... At times a kind of insanity would seize us and we would drop everything and run wildly in any direction until we were exhausted.When I first read People of the Deer several years ago, I was impressed by the Ihalmiut, who ate only meat and indeed without meat could not survive; that without their way of life, they could not survive. And they did not survive. So what happened? In a rudimentary nutshell, it seems someone came along and sold them a bill of goods, told them something like: You can have a better life and I can show you, help you, here, do it my way, it will work, you’ll be happy, you’ll have everything you need and more. And for a minute or two, it seemed to work. It seemed good. It seemed right. But then that joker left for other profit and what he left behind didn’t work. And The Joker didn’t care—no longer his business. And so people starved, searched for food, died. A few survived. Mowat came along and wrote about them. But why did they believe The Joker in the first place? Easy. Don’t you want a better life? And shouldn’t the question be the other way around? Like: Why did The Joker want these people to change?
So what is your circumstance?
I took a video of Josie and the buck that includes me, on the porch, behind camera with dozens of mosquitoes, ergo wildly unsteady hand, and, just for the record, Elliott at my feet.
Wild: heat, wind, rain, cooling off. Wild lightening, thunder, long days. Last night the shooshing of rain over fields covered by a blinking mist of fireflies.