A Chance Encounter

A few weeks ago we were dealing with a seemingly endless stretch of high humidity and even higher temperatures (rather unusual in the upper peninsula) which had sent us all indoors to air conditioners or kept us permanently entrenched at the beach. Finally, the temperature and humidity had come down some on Friday, allowing us to finally open windows and venture outdoors without fear of heat exhaustion. Clay had left for a weekend golf tournament and I am lying awake in bed, unaccustomed to the night noises after the steady drone of the air conditioner for so long.

I glance at the clock seeing it read after four in the morning, listening to the soft breeze rustle the leaves outside my window, and wonder what had woke me. The ceiling fan stirs the summer air around the room, and I get up deciding to check on Isabelle next door. I find her tangled in her white sheet, arms spread wide, bleached blonde hair a smear across her pillow in that carefree, puppy-like way that only children sleep. I do the mother-thing and place a light hand on her chest to feel her steady heartbeat strong inside her chest and place a kiss upon her forehead before slipping out the door of her room. For some reason I wander into the office, the furniture in shadow, as I step to the open window and look out on the front yard. And then I see her.

She is laying with her legs neatly tucked underneath her in the middle of my large flowerbed of myrtle, which encompasses six full size oaks. Like a queen on her dais she slowly lowers her delicate brown head to the lush green plants to nibbles off leaves and then raises it to survey the subdivision with her liquid black eyes. The doe's body is large and well-formed, paired with a graceful long neck, tapering into two elongated ears that are flickering back and forth, catching all of the tiny night noises. A slight gleam is coming off of her coat where it reflects the glare of the tall street light just slightly down the way.

I catch myself holding my breath, frozen in place, gazing at this lovely, wild creature which is such a common sight at my camp but more out of place, laying in my very public front yard. But these a.m. hours are a time when the human world and the animal one overlap and blur more easily .... when the neighbors we don't see venture out. And so a chance meeting.

Suddenly the doe shifts her gaze looking directly at the window I am standing in, and I realize I must have made some sound to give away my presence. We both look at one another for a full minute, not moving, before I back away and leave her. After all, this is her time. I crawl back into my bed, where the sheets feel slightly cooler against my skin, and doze off feeling somehow privileged to have met my nighttime visitor.

I Love Where I Live

Now I know many of you think I am nuts, but I love where I live. By all accounts it is a miserable day by most people's standards ... 15 degrees outside, several inches of snow on the ground, and roads sloppy with slush and snow. Every car I see is covered with a combination of dirt, grime, salt, and grey snow, muting their shiny paint jobs into something nondescript and dismal. We all trudge through an inch or two of new fallen snow from last night which has yet to be shoveled, most with our chins tucked into collars of jackets. And the kids are bundled in head to toe snow gear for the playground at school.


It is the time of year when I cannot keep my kitchen floor clean because some foolhardy builder did not see fit to place a mudroom coming in off of the garage and so one enters my house directly onto said kitchen floor. Despite my best attempts to have my family remove shoes in the garage this does not always occur, and I continually wage war with the outside mess that comes with winter. This combines with having no ideal place to put all of the wet clothing a five year old inevitably will bring indoors and promptly fling all over. Sigh.


Nevertheless. I love where I live, and this was demonstrated to me again in various little ways today as I went about my weekly errands. Like driving next to Lake Michigan with all the rugged ice shacks dotting the frozen bay, fisherman already sitting snug inside, while big, fat white flakes swirled around in the sky. I will never get tired of that view. Or perhaps pulling into the store parking lot in time to see a gentleman rescue a woman from what would have been a nasty fall in the slippery parking lot, by quickly grabbing her arm. I shared a laugh with them as I got out of my car and exchanged a few quips about "skiing at Walmart" minus the hill. Later, as I pulled out of the same parking lot I watched as another man, who had just pulled in, got out of his car, walked over to another and proceeded to open the door of a neighboring truck. To steal it? No, to shut off the headlights which must have been left on by its owner. Smiling to myself I watched as he anonymously did his good deed, shut the door, and walked into the store.

It is these little acts of kindness that are all around me on a daily basis that I love the most about living here. The fact that when I walk around my grocery store I exchange "Good Mornings" with over a dozen people even though I don't know any of them by name because people are just that friendly. Or that I can teasingly argue with the guy who bags my groceries about the upcoming Packers/Steelers Superbowl game and half the people around us will join in on the conversation. It is a wonderful community and perhaps nicest of all it reminds you that despite all of the not so beautiful news we see and hear all too often in the media, most people are good-hearted, honest souls. And couldn't we all use that reminder every now and again?