Coincidental Meeting

I snapped, cursed, and apologized. Another bad photo

She said, "Oh, that's OK."

Once I got the photograph, I walked past her and noticed the lovely outdoor stool. "Wow, that's a nice stool!" I said, turning to the land spit by the beach.

"Thanks!" she called.

"I could use one of those," and I really could. Sometimes it's a pain just waiting and waiting and waiting for the right shot.

I gave up, and turned back to the bridge where she sat, cross-wise, legs out, for a bit of rest.

"I apologize again," I said, and she stood.

I noticed her painting and asked about it.

"It's for a class."

"Art major?"

"No. Environmental Arts and Humanities."

Then I saw the Alabama Outdoors water bottle.

"Are you from Birmingham!"

"Yes," she answered.

"Me too!"

And we were off -- similar pleasures in our home town, similar complaints, similar interests, similar insights. Chat about schools, and majors, and plans for the future, and art, and photography.

When I got home, I suddenly realized I had spoken to the writer of this superior essay -- "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" by Jessie Hook.

I hope you enjoy it too.

One benefit of walking Gracie --

my One-Hour-A-Day-Dog -- is chatting with folks on campus. Students often ask, "May I pet your dog?" or smile and nod (briefly looking up from their screens), or offer a passing hello, or even want to talk.

One young woman curled into an Adirondack chair, reading and enjoying the sunlight, hopped up and asked to pet Gracie. "Of course," I said. And then she told me about her dog.

"I remember how hard it was to leave my cat at home when I went to college. What year are you?

"First."

"It got a bit easier this semester, don't you think?"

"Yes," she said.

Gracie, meanwhile, was basking in the student's affection.

She told me she would major in psychology with a second emphasis in political science. "I love it here," she added. "I just love learning new things."

With that, we parted.

A bit later, I stopped to photograph this stencil on the sign. A student turned the corner, looked where I was looking, and said, "What's that?"

"I was hoping you might know!" I answered.

"No clue. But it looks like an insect, doesn't it?"

"Yep. I just love random things like this."

"Me, too," she said. "See ya!"

Conversations with strangers each morning, another reason why I enjoy walking with Gracie.

You Can't Always Get What You Want (Different Ode Species)

Sometimes you get something better.

I noticed the pair when they arrived with serious fishing gear and got to work. She caught something immediately, and then my attention strayed: Blue Corporals, at least six, emerging or having emerged (including one fatally injured with permanently crimped wings, never to fly, just hanging on).

Eventually, I noticed the man had moved across the lake and the young woman had wandered back to the grassy area near the beach where I stood. I asked her, “Catch and release or eat?”

“Catch and release!”

“Good choice!”

In a few minutes, she came over to ask what I was photographing. Once I showed her the emerging Blue Corporals, she was as hooked as I. 

Of different generations and backgrounds, we found our common ground: love of nature. Like me, she watches something terrible in a nature video and wonders, “Why don’t you guys do something instead of just taking the video?” Like me, she rescues things in need. Someone said to her once, “It’s just nature.” Her answer is mine: “Yes, but I’m there; I can do something, so why wouldn’t I!”

“Yes,” I said. “If I have a wreck on the highway, I hope some living thing that sees me will rescue me.”

"Exactly."

From there we launched into stories of her life – what she had wanted to be (a mechanic, but her father had asked how will you lift heavy things? to which she said to me Uh . . . ask? with a half-smile and shrug), what she hated doing (hanging dry wall with her father), what she'd done that made her proud and taught her the big things in life (serve in the Air Force), what she has done for her sister (pay for everything for the sister and sister's baby for two years), and what she won’t do again (surrender herself so fully financially to someone else who could look at herself or himself). She also talked about sometimes wishing she were back in service for one reason: no big decisions. "Everything is decided for you and that's kind of comfortable."

She’s lucky. She has her health,  and smarts, and experience, and family. She said, “I keep asking if I can pay rent or buy the groceries or help out with the bills, but they always say no.”

“Good,” I said. “They know you need the time now to decide what comes next.”

“Yes,” she said. “And that’s the scary part.”

After I told her about Lake Dimmick and showed her the map, we parted, but not before we introduced ourselves.

“I really enjoyed talking to you, A_______.”

“Same here, Robley.” she said. “I’m really glad I walked over here.”

I am too.

Conversation with a Former Stranger

I must have missed the memo about the burn along Day Lake Road, but when I saw Susie, I knew to ask her.

"Hi!" I called across her wide yard when I saw her electric cart turn into the driveway.

"Well hello, honey! How have you been?"

"Great! Mind if I walk over?"

"Come on! Any time!"

And with that, I set out. Her little blonde dog, a squashed sausage of Chihauhua, knows me so he didn't bark, but Johnny -- her small black foster whom she adopted -- doesn't, so there was a lot of circling and barking, all harmless.

I asked about the burned field beyond her property, and her reply was, "Oh they did that a while back. Didn't tell us a thing. Never do."

"They" means the University.

Maybe, we thought together, it's to renew the land, or to burn off invasive plants, or to prepare the field for the farm.

Finally, we chatted about her missing old blind horse, happily living now on a big farm about an hour from here, and her brother who might lose a foot, and her health, which has improved since last summer (her color is back), and her neighbor who is my cat sitter.

This is what I love most about frequenting places where the true locals live. Invariably, they have been friendly and welcoming.

"See you soon, honey!" called as I turned toward the car, and then "Johnny, stop that!"

Another Conversation with a Stranger

Having discovered the Fragile Forktails (who must have emerged in the rain when I did not), I wandered round Lake Cheston to the cattails and grasses near the beach. Sure enough, two males and a female, sunning and eating and cavorting. I leaned in to snap, and I spoke to them as I usually do.

Then I wandered across the beach to the next set of cattails and grasses (sedges?). On hearing two distinct and distinctly small plops I looked in the water and lo and behold there it was -- a little toad (at least I think it was a toad). Again, I leaned and leaned in and apologized for disturbing it and again when it sank out sight.

By this time a woman and her two children had rounded the walk.

"May we know what you're photographing? We heard you talking over there," gesturing, "and over here."

I smiled. "Yes, I have a habit of doing that."

The children came close.

We made a tight circle so I could show them my camera screen. "I was taking pictures of the first damselflies I've seen this year -- Fragile Forktails. They're less than an inch in length."

There were suitable gasps and comments like "Beautiful."

Then I showed them the toad and where it had been.

The children were delighted as was the mother, who introduced herself (I know who she is and have met her husband -- both musicians). We chatted, as one does in a small place, and discovered we have mutual friends.

Then she said, "We're moving to Prague this summer, but we come here nearly every day, so we'll probably see you."

"Permanently?" I asked.

"Yes," she said."For me it's home, and it's about family and opportunity."

And with that we parted.

(I hope we do indeed meet again for another delightful conversation.)

Socialization

Walking a dog, even someone else's dog, every morning has surprising benefits, chief among them socialization.

The kindness of a neighbor and her dog Panda eases Gracie into new territory: friendship with a previously unfamiliar canine. Yesterday, after previously barking at the same pair several times over the course of different days, we happened upon Panda and her human on our way to the lake. We were invited to walk along beside, at some distance, and Gracie was allowed to sniff Panda's markings, and Panda to sniff Gracie's. After an enthusiastically boisterous beginning, Gracie settled into a companionable stroll. Today, when we met them on their way home and on our way out, Panda and Gracie shared a lovely moment of rest while the humans chatted.

A bit later, as we crossed a Lake Cheston bridge, we encountered two students taking advantage of their late first class (11 AM), soaking in the sun and blue sky and strangely (uncomfortably so) warm weather. Instead of barking at the seated young women, as has been her wont in the past on encountering unknown people, Gracie wagged and wiggled and they giggled and stroked her and took cell photos. Then, about halfway to the dam, Gracie spotted her first slider (my first slider of the year) sunning on the fallen tree where they often are. Instead of charging full-out toward it, Gracie assumed a position and stared a good long time. Still later, at the dam, as a gaggle of children and parents approached, Gracie stopped, accepted their smiles, and then moved on.

Even the players at the baseball field were just other points of interest, for us both, and we headed home feeling happy to have made such good relaxed acquaintance with those along our way.

Another Conversation with a Stranger

When I turned from one side of the Decherd street toward the other, a woman hesitated to walk in front of me and my camera. I lowered it.

She paused and said, "Nice day for a walk, isn't it?"

"It is! It's lovely. I like to walk too."

"Good for the spirit and the body!"

I nodded. "I take a walk every day."

She smiled. "Young people. They sit around and sit around. If they don't get up and move, how will they get up when they're old?" 

I laughed. "So true!"

"Nice view," she said, looking across the street where I had focused. "Enjoy yourself!"

"Enjoy the day!"

She continued up the street.

I took the picture, but now when I look at it, I see her too -- bony, but healthily; her wrinkles pronounced, deep, like the lines an artist might make with a thin Sharpie; lively eyes; dyed black hair, a bit below the shoulder, parted just off center where a small widow's peak of white-white hair lifted.

A beautiful woman, surprisingly genial, genteel even, like the empty storefronts -- old but glowing.

Mobility

"Aren't you the nature photographer?" he asked when I got out of the car.

"Yes! Dragonflies and damselflies!"

"We've met before," he said.

"I remember! Are you leaving?"

"Not yet," he said, grabbed some soft drinks from the back of his trunk, then headed through the gate toward the dam.

When I caught up some minutes later, I saw him and his wife, toast each other with their blue plastic cups.

"What are you toasting?" I asked when I was close enough.

"This is our mid-summer toast," she said, smiling. "A bit late, but this is our first visit this summer."

We chatted a while, reminding each other that we're all teachers (they've been retired about nine years), commenting on the beautiful afternoon, before I took off toward the odes.

An hour or so later, I followed them back through the gate.

They love wildflowers and always consult their guide to Tennessee ones, the same book I have on a shelf. They also read when the come, classics mostly, each a different book.

"So many Virginia meadow flowers this year!" he said

"Yes," I said, "but no cardinal flowers, thanks to the really big mow."

"Don't worry. They'll come back," he assured me.

"How long does the drive back home take?"

"About two hours or so," he said, "depending on the Chattanooga traffic."

"That's an awfully long way to come to read and see flowers!"

She said, "We love it here. Reminds us of Europe. There's something magic about Sewanee."

"Especially Lake Cheston. It's so peaceful and beautiful," he added. "We're headed to Green's View next."

"Just know that it's changed a bit," I warned them. "It might not be as accessible as it used to be."

"Oh," she said, "we always manage. As long as we can get there, we always manage. I'd never let this slow me down."

Afterwards, at the hospital, I thought about mobility -- hers, Boo's, and mine. 

I think it's time to stop complaining about my bad feet.

Not All Old Women Wear Purple

 

Some eat cherries.

Like the lady pushing her cart across the Walmart parking lot toward me. She was clean and coiffed, slow-moving, her quad cane in her cart filled with bagged groceries.

I could have walked past her, straight into the store, but not in a hurry, I asked, "May I help you?" and did. Her car was in the closest handicap space. After she clicked, I popped up the trunk and let her instruct me about where to place what (milk and butter in the little white cooler, cat food cans between it and the tire wheel, perishables a safe distance away).

"Oh" I said, looking in one bag, "cherries!"

"Yes," she replied, "and they're still less than three dollars a pound."

"They aren't on my list, but I'll definitely get some." I added, "Did you see the blood oranges earlier in the season? Big ones and smaller ones like Little Cuties."

She answered, somewhat wistfully, "No, I missed them. Maybe next year!"

I waited till she was in the car, took her basket back across the crosswalk, and thought I really hope she sees next year.

Almost Famous

I heard them behind me before I saw them: one couple and two women, going opposite directions, both stopping to ask, "What are you looking at?"

"Dragonflies." I pointed. "See straight over there, in front of the bank? There's a big one depositing eggs. She's slapping the water and coming back up."

"Yes," they all responded.

"Great Blue Skimmers," I said.

"Wait! Are the one who wrote the article?" one of the women walkers asked.

I admitted as much and they wanted to know more. So I told them more about what I wrote in Nature Notes (page 14 of The Sewanee Mountain Messenger).

They went on their way and I, mine.

What I didn't tell them is this: I spent the better part of the day taking bad picture after bad picture. But dadgum it was fun. Now that I have the right waterproof hiking shoes and a fancy new lens, I don't care about quality or fame. Just give me the opportunity to climb around, find beautiful bugs, and shoot!

An Almost Perfect Day

"Can there be a more perfect day?" the Reader asked.

"A little less windy for me," I answered.

When she looked puzzled and said, "Sure," I added, "I'm trying to photograph insects."

"Oh!" The Reader smiled.

We talked a bit: I suggested she cross the lake to see the pink lady slippers, she said she and her husband would retire to the Domain (they are here this weekend so he can attend a fraternity meeting), I said it's a great place to live, and at that point something huge zoomed overhead. I said goodbye and made a hasty exit.

She has the right idea, this visitor from a smallish town about an hour and a half west: find a good spot, open a book, and read.

But first, there's always something to see and someone to meet.

Failures of Communication

"H-e-l-l-o-o-o-o!" I nearly shouted

A woman starting to walk across the dam called in response, "Hi!"

How could I possibly explain that I wasn't talking to her (I hadn't even seen her)? I decided to tell her the truth. "I'm sorry, I didn't even see you. I was exclaiming about the large dragonfly that just flew past me!"

She laughed and said, "I understand," and walked on.

Good thing she didn't also hear me curse about 

A. the lack of light

B. my inability to find the right position (including sitting in the mud with one foot on a rock to the left and the other parting leaves beside a rock on the right) to photograph and video this emerging Lancet Clubtail



and

C. my complete failure to capture even one decent snap of the large dragonfly: the first Stream Cruiser of the season. At least I know what one looks like, so IDing is easy (see that blur at left edge?)

Now if I can just befriend my camera and make Lightroom stop closing down every time I try to use it.

Grrr.

At Walmart

Customer A:  Is this price per pound? Or for the whole bag? (holding a bag of green grapes)

Customer B:  Hmm. (bending down to read the sticker on the shelf) This says 1.09 a pound. But the package is marked for a lot more.

Customer A:  So . . . this is confusing.

Customer B:  I'll say. There’s a scale over there if you need it. I was hoping to find cherries. But it looks like they’re done.

Customer A:  Were the cherries good this summer?

Customer B:  Dee-li-cious.

Customer A:  Are you buying grapes?

Customer B:  No. But look at these beautiful raspberries! Only 3.99 for the whole package!

Customer A:  I can’t eat them. Diverticulitis.

Customer B:  Really? What a shame!

Customer A:  Yes, and I have a knee that doesn’t really work. But I just keep a’goin’. I had the other one fixed, but as long as this works, I'm ok. I’m just thankful I’m still here.

Customer B:  Yes, I know what you mean. I just came from a funeral.

Customer A:  Oh, I’m sorry. I lost my daughter at 26, my sister just a few years ago, my husband. But I’m still here! And I just had a big birthday!

Customer B:  Really? It couldn’t have been that big!

Customer A:  80! And I’m still goin’!

Customer B:  Seriously? 80? You don’t look more than 60!

Customer A:  Well, I’m 80 and my knee feels 80!

Customer B: But you’re here, and you’re walking, and driving, and shopping!

Customer A:  Yes, I just keep on movin’, thank God.

(both putting fruit in their baskets)

Customer B:  Good luck with those grapes!

Customer A:  It was great talking with you today. Thank tou!

Customer B:  Yes, it was. This has made driving down to Walmart worth it!

(they part.)

Coda: Customer B has enjoyed her raspberries, but not nearly as much as the conversation with a stranger.