Skip to main content

Natural Surprise

     When was the last time you were truly surprised?  Not pleasantly surprised, but truly surprised.  Was it a birthday party your friends and family pulled off behind your back, or the reaction of someone that radically did not fit your expectation?  

    Currently, some of us are continually being surprised by the feckless behavior of many politicians.  Their prioritizing party politics over morality or ethical behavior falls more under the heading of disappointment, but to see it from those we had a modicum of respect for is shocking.

    Surprises are best when they come out of the blue.  I should say under the blue.  Nature provided me with two wonderful surprises on days when the sky was blue and bluer.  

    I was casting a fly one summer afternoon in the headwaters of the Deschutes River.  This is a magical little spot where the mighty Deschutes actually springs out of a small lake and meanders through a meadow looking more like a spring creek.  It's also the place I first caught a brook trout on a fly, so holds a special affection for me.  One afternoon about 10 years ago I chanced to find myself alone in this enchanting spot.  I was running a nymph through a small set of riffles when I noticed a set of eyes poke out of the water about 20 feet t my left.  Is that a beaver? I thought.  Am I having the quintessential Oregon experience?  (We are the beaver state) No, within minutes the eyes re-appeared attached to a friendly otter.  I backed up a few feet to let him know I was not aggressive and that I realized this was his home turf.  He soon disappeared but returned a few minutes later with his family.  I watched spellbound as his mate, their two pups, and then finally their breadwinner crossed the river in front of me and then slowly swam away down the riverbank on the opposite.  The last image I have of them is all four bookended by mom and pop swimming in an S pattern close to the bank and out toward another meadow. The smile that they gave me lasted for two days.



    Another natural surprise I received came in a very different environment.  I was traveling to a few Hawaiian islands with two friends one time in the mid-1980s.  My travel-mates were both on restricted diets by choice and were not drinking coffee.  OK, I thought I can drink tea for a couple of weeks.  By the third day on the big island of Hawaii, I was lusting for a good cup of coffee.  I even brought a small plastic bag of my favorite house blend, should I need it.  The problem was, I couldn't find a coffee filter anywhere. There were no large supermarkets near our condo there, but I found a little hardware/general merchandise store and bought a small funnel.  I tried a paper towel as a filter and worked... somewhat.



    After a few days of drinking bad coffee, I was ready for a change.  We were headed to some historical site to visit the next day, I looked at the map (that's all we had in those days) and saw that the famous Kona Coffee Company was a short mile or two from where we'd be.  Later that afternoon, I excused myself from one of the historical site visits and found myself walking along a narrow highway toward the town of Kona.  It was a pleasant walk, with lush flora and beautiful birdsong in my background.  As I rounded a curve, my eyes found a large tree whose branches made a nice shady spot I'd soon walk through. About halfway up the tree, my gaze fell on a huge white face.  An owl, ogling me, friendly but nevertheless demanding immediate respect.  I stood still.  What a stunning sight.  Frozen in my mind forever.  Natural surprise.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Mr. Greene v. Mr. Brown

I want to tell you about something. Something I've carried inside myself for a number of years now. Perhaps if I were a different kind of person I wouldn't need to talk about it. I'm not. My need to tell it is stronger than your need to hear it. Because, however, there are a number of teachers and former students of mine who may read these meanderings from time to time, I need to tell this story all the more. About 7 or 8 years ago I was asked if I would allow a university PhD. candidate to observe an English class. At first I decided against it because I was scheduled to have a student teacher placed with me the second half of the semester in question. After some urging, however, at the request of a respected colleague, I agreed. Soon I was committing to extra meetings, signing documents and explaining to the class in question who the young woman who thoughtfully pounded away on a laptop in the rear of the classroom three times a week was. I knew that the topic of ...

Illusory

What does it take to enrage you?  That moment when your words fly on pure emotion because enough is enough.  Is it a driver that cuts you off at high speed?  What about being an eyewitness to blatant racism or on the receiving end of some obvious injustice? I know some people who never express rage.  I admire them but know full well I am not capable of such distance from that which would bring about such a strong response. Another senseless shooting and 7 people die at the hands of a mentally ill gun owner.  The father of the 20 year old college student lets it fly and somehow millions feel a new sense of relief.  He calls the politicians bastards who do nothing, he wears his pain in public.  The news media responds but we all know that nothing is going to change.  We are the gun country.  We are the place where anybody, anytime, can be cut down just for being there when somebody else snaps. Usually the perpetrators are delusional. ...

Body Language

I'm sitting there in a hospital gown, waiting for my doctor to complete my yearly physical.  This is when I look at everything on the walls, read the medical posters, the instructions on any equipment in the room, look in every corner and behind every chair.  I study the paper on the examination table, laugh out loud at the picture of a smiling child holding a bouquet of broccoli, and the note the placement of the computer in the room. Finally, wondering if the gown I'm wearing is on correctly, I focus on myself.  At this point in my life I'm fairly comfortable in a doctor's office.  But it always seems to take so long when waiting for the doc to enter.  So I fidget.  Then I begin a tour of myself.  Scars are tattoos.  I look at the one on my knee and see myself at 12.  Whittling a piece of wood with my Boy Scout jack knife.  The blade slips and I cut a crescent slash through my jeans and into my flesh for life.  50 years later ...