It's In Your Blood

It's in your blood. Or perhaps in your spirit, or in your soul. It is the mountains and the ocean, the waters of a pristine lake, the first glimpse of a small cove sheltered safe from a steeping gale. It is a part of your innards, a piece of your mind, your inner being. Whatever it is, that which is wild will never leave you, and you will never leave that which is wild.

We drove along the road in northern Ontario. I saw a mink, or perhaps something less elegant, dash across the road. I shouted out to Katherine "There's a mink". She didn't see it. I coasted along a lazy highway. I saw a fox beside the road, standing, ready, looking for where to leap, where to run. I said to Katherine, "There's a fox". She didn't see it. I saw a group of antelope, too small to be a herd, standing off, atop a small rise in the distance. I said to Katherine 'Look! Antelope!" She didn't see them.

Last year when I was driving with Mike from Radium to Golden, in the settling hours of the late afternoon, I saw a deer beside the road. I noticed that it was large, perhaps pregnant, moving slowing, edging towards the side of the road. I readied myself as I drove, preparing for that unexpected spring onto the roadway, that leap into destruction. As we passed the deer, I said to Mike, "Look! A deer!" He didn't see it.

The first time I took Katie into the mountains in search of Whitetail Deer, I saw a herd of Mule Deer up on the mountain side. I said to Kate, "Look. Mule Deer!" She didn't see them. Then I pointed out again where they were. She asked me how I saw them, in the midst of all the trees and stumps and rubble. I said, "You have to look for what shouldn't be there."

Nearly 35 years ago, when I was driving my Mom and Ray and Carla to Edmonton, taking my turn at the wheel of Ray's car, I saw a moose as it clambered up onto the road from the ditch. I only saw it because it did not belong there, it was not in the right place. I saw it, swerved, and did not hit that monster of the forest as so many others have done.

I don't know for sure where I learned this. I've just learned, over time, to look, to see, to notice what should not be there, and perhaps what should. I don't know why I can look at the sea and know if there are fish. I don't know why I can look at the sky and know why the weather is this or that. I don't know why I can look at a hillside and see what others cannot see.

Perhaps it's in my blood.