SPRING
GUESS WHO’S COMING TO DINNER
THE MEAT NEVER MADE IT TO THE TABLE
Living rurally, nature allows us to be just a small part of our environment.
Beyond this mowed meadow, sculpted gardens and carefully crafted outdoor spaces, there is a world I don’t quite understand. Brothers Grimm warn that the woods are forbidden places where unless you’ve a pocketful of bread crumbs you’ll probably become lost and wander forever until you die some horrible death. Strange little men live in the woods under bridges and dress in leaves and animal skins and carry big rifles and will shoot you if you get too close. The wolf is always on the prowl with razor sharp teeth. Poor little Piggies better be clever or end up in the Hormel section of your local market. Lost little children’s souls wander at night crying for their fathers. Poor thing’s mothers have died and the kiddies cast out by some wicked stepmother. I could go on and on, but you get my drift. We’ve all read Grimm. A walk in the woods should be serene, peaceful, invigorating and somewhat educational. But every time I wander, I get the distinct notion that something is following me, watching me, wanting me. Nonsense. That’s just stuff of fairy tales.
Our property is bordered by the Appalachian Trail.
Designated a National Park it is well maintained, traveled and a beautiful hike.
We can cut right through our south meadow, go up the hill and there it is.
You go over the river and through the woods and walk for an hour along the trail, turn around and head home. The experience is great exercise and a wonderful place to run the dogs who claim it their own territory. Beware to the occasional hiker when they happen upon our three protective, barking Vizsla during an otherwise pleasant walk along nature’s finest path. George takes the dogs out every Saturday and Sunday. I usually stay home. Exercise and hiking have become mundane to me. I enjoy the time alone without 12 little clawed feet and two human underfoot.
I do worry that the dogs will get lost or hurt, but I know one of them will come home and do the Lassie thing if George has fallen and can’t get up.
Now don’t get me wrong. I like having this National treasure in our backyard.
The Appalachian Trail is an interesting phenomenon.
It originated as a pedestrian super highway from Maine to Georgia. The Indians would trod seasonally up and down the trail selling their wares, beads and pelts and whatever Indians traded in those days.
It was all about commerce. It wasn’t about pleasure. Plus I hear that many Indian curses were placed along the trail guaranteeing good travel, trade, misfortune, big boy children and other things from mundane to down right scary. I’m sure there is a curse in my backyard! At least I hope so!
This path wasn’t hacked out of the woods. It was the migratory path of the white tail deer. They walked back and forth for centuries and their cloven hooves produced a rather nice little trail over and under things that made our two legged upright biped’s life much easier. When the white man moved in, took over and not so pleasantly moved the Indians further west, they forgot to tell the deer to move also. Today we are still over run by these Bambi’s and sometimes we run over these Bambi’s who eat our vegetables, drop ticks in our meadows and attract all sort of wildlife from the food chain. Nature’s food chain isn’t needed anymore. We have supermarkets to fill our cupboards.
Up and down, back and forth, these nasty four legger’s, to this day, behave like it were the year 300AD for God’s sake! They seem to be accompanied by all the forest. You remember that wonderful Disney scene of Bambi’s world? All the denizen of the forest living, romping and playing happily together? Yup, that’s my back yard.
We have wild turkey that strut their stuff picking grubs and worms out of the meadow. Stupid ugly birds, they can hardly fly when the dogs chase them away. We’ve had the Fox Family live at the bottom of the meadow for two seasons.
Mr. Fox was quite bold trotting up and down the road as if he owned it. Five kits huddled close to the edge of the woods and would come out at dusk or dawn to romp and play. The kit’s scream at night when Mon and Dad go foraging for food. Their screams sound like real human babies crying and it’s very discerning to wake at 2AM to human babies being left in the woods by their wicked stepmothers probably to be eaten by Coyote’s.
The Family Fox left and never came back once we got Buddy. Guess they didn’t like his barking.
Mrs. Bobcat roams the hillside and sends Buddy into the most uncontrollable fits.
We also have coyote, but they prove to be elusive. I’ve only seen one once through the eerie morning mist. However, you certainly can hear them far or near when they take a deer down. They scream and howl in triumph, frustration and anger as the pack positions for who gets to eat the best parts. It’s just another nasty way to be wakened at 2AM. Of course, all three dogs jump out from under the covers and join in the cacophony of noise. Very unpleasant, but just another price you pay for living in the woods.
Skunks, yes Buddy and Blaze have both been skunked. That’s an episode unto it’s own.
We’ve also had raccoons looking rabid as they peer in the window at us.
You name it. we’ve got ‘em. All creatures great and small traversing the Appalachian have stopped by to say hello and wonder who the Hell are we and why are we on their trail?
A few springs ago while these nature things were waking up from their winter slumber and starting to walk from Maine to Georgia, we were having a very smart little Saturday Evening Barbeque. Guests James and Kilian were in from Germany, Stancy and Carrie from down the road and Ned and Arlene up from the city. I think there was another couple but I don’t really remember.
Anyway, it was around 6 in the evening and a beautiful spring day, the sun setting and dusk just around the corner. Our picture perfect colonial house sitting in the woods on a hillside, doors wide open and windows flung wide.
A perfect setting, the night could hardly get better.
All of the guests are in the house with the usual yakking, laughter, ‘4 conversations going on at the same time’ sort of party in progress.
With the wine and vodka flowing, hor d’ourves serving, I decide it’s time to go outside to fire up the BBQ. Last season’s grease still coated the inside of the grill so I fire up the propane, set it on high and went back inside to refresh my drink while it smoked itself clean.
A few minutes later I’m back outside at the grill in order to shut the lid.
It was really smoking up a signal. The Grill sits perpendicular to the house right outside the back door. From that point, the backyard is about 100 feet to the top edge of our hill. It’s quite a drop off that slides all the way down to the river. If you fall over the edge you could really hurt your self as you tumble abyss like.
Anyway, as I stand at the grill, hand on lid handle, out of the corner of my eye is see black movement rising over the top of the hillside edge, coming my way.
Damn black cat I say to myself.
However, the black cat got big enough to get my full attention, turn my head and actually look eye to eye directly at something that peed my pants. Slowly I put the lid of the BBQ down and more slowly backed into the house. My only thought was where are my dogs. I back up into the house whisperquietlike and shut the door and lock it. The roar of the crowd shook me to my senses. I see both dogs are inside and part of the party begging for food. I run to the front door and shut it, lock it.
I turn to our guests matter of factly say, “Everybody….everybody…(a little louder now) EVERYBODY….
No one would pay attention to me. Everybody was having such a time they didn’t even know I was there.
With great forcefulness and my voice pitched just a little too high to be acceptable in our local bar, I actually scream,
“MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION, PULEEEEEZE!”
( Where that phrase came from I’ll never know.)
You could hear a pin drop….complete stunned, silent faces looked at me. My guest’s expressions were somewhere between ‘is he hurt?’ to “has he been drinking too much?’
Attention gathered, I take a counter tenor of a breath and scream even higher,
“THERE’S A BEAR IN THE YARD!”
Stunned silence continued for a few seconds and then the biggest mass of excited chatter from 8 or 10 big city ex patriots, saucer wide eyes, Buddy and Blaze barking wildly, all rush to the back windows as if I’d just announced Tom Cruise jumping naked outside on some lumpy sofa. If you had been an old lady you would have been stampeded and crushed.
Right outside the window, had it been open if you could touch him, was a fully grown 250 pound male black bear. He seemed annoyed, uninterested in the hysteria inside or what was on the barbeque. Looking rather dumpy and forlorn, he wandered over to the pine trees making his way along the north side of the house toward the road.
I vaguely remember demanding that no one open a door and let the dogs out. Should we all lie down of the floor and play dead as it sniffs our heads after it breaks in? People were asking for a camera and mine’s broken. Ned claimed his camera was in their convertible and I really think we had to forcibly stop him from running outside to retrieve it. Everyone was talking at once and the dogs had reached a high level of hysteria.
By this time the big fella was slowly plodding past the convertible toward the road and we all ran into the bathroom on the north side of the house to watch him. A ridiculous scene. All 16 or 20 feet in unison then trot into the living room in the front of the house and watched him slowing traverse the road and disappear up the west hill, headed for another neighbors house. He was gone. Just like that. Never looked back. He didn’t like us.
He didn’t cause mayhem and destruction. He just went about his hairy way. How disappointing. No doubt he was upset at not receiving an invitation for dinner. After all, we were only serving chicken.
Collective adrenalin rushed and continued to do so for minutes to come. I remember I kept repeating that no one open the door or let the dogs out. I got on the phone and alerted the neighbors to run for safety.
Now the drinks were really pouring! I notice that Stacy and Kilian are outside across the street, cocktails in hand, hiking up the hill after our bear. I pour myself another stiff one!
I’m sure we were all able to make it to the table that night and enjoyed a marvelous meal and continued the typical good conversation that usually rounds the table.
I’m certain I was scolded several times by ‘the George look’ of ‘that’s enough’ as I repeatedly recreated my pronouncement in a quintessentially queer rendition of Florence Foster Jenkins warbling, “THERE’S A BEAR IN THE YARD”. I didn’t care..everyone was laughing! Our uninvited, unwelcomed and disappointingly absent guest was the topic du nuit.
I didn’t let my dogs out that night unless I had them on a leash, thoughts of dog disembowelment dancing through my head.
I think everyone made it home to bed or into the guest rooms that night for a good nights sleep. I hope so!
.
Somewhere up the hill, in a cave./’;, I’m sure Papa Bear was telling Mama Bear as they tucked in Baby Bear about a bunch of lunatics he had happened across that evening on his way home from work. He warned Baby Bear never to go down the hill to that white house with the red roof. He must have been totally disgusted by those upright walking animals making loud noises and pointing and yelling at him from inside. He clucks his tongue and says, “this neighborhood has never been the same since those ‘red’ upright walking animals left and the white ones moved in!”
We haven’t seen our bear or any other since then. Locals have reported sightings now and then in the Harlem Valley Times. Stancy told me recently that the town game warden was seen driving by with a black bear, shot dead and tied to the back of his truck.
I hope it wasn’t my bear. As long as he doesn’t come to dinner again he can do what ever bears do do in the woods… along with all those evil little men under the bridge, the Big Bad Wolf, dead children’s souls crying and all the other wild and mysterious things that follow and watch you when your alone out there.
I really do love living in the country and love the wood surround.
It’s the perfect place for friends to come for the weekend, have great parties, food and wine. Nature visits us upon some occasions and the sheer joy from our guests gathering outside at night to watch the stars, a once in a lifetime visit by some Japanese Named Comet or the flurry of a million fireflys lighting up the meadow, makes me really appreciate where we live and what we have.
It will be hard to top the Bear Coming to Dinner evening. Our guest list sadly lacks in wildlife.
But you never know, something just as exciting might be in store for us at any moment along the Appalachian Trail. Something different.
Rumpelstilskin perhaps?
I feel another theme party coming on…..
GUESS WHO’S COMING TO DINNER
THE MEAT NEVER MADE IT TO THE TABLE
Living rurally, nature allows us to be just a small part of our environment.
Beyond this mowed meadow, sculpted gardens and carefully crafted outdoor spaces, there is a world I don’t quite understand. Brothers Grimm warn that the woods are forbidden places where unless you’ve a pocketful of bread crumbs you’ll probably become lost and wander forever until you die some horrible death. Strange little men live in the woods under bridges and dress in leaves and animal skins and carry big rifles and will shoot you if you get too close. The wolf is always on the prowl with razor sharp teeth. Poor little Piggies better be clever or end up in the Hormel section of your local market. Lost little children’s souls wander at night crying for their fathers. Poor thing’s mothers have died and the kiddies cast out by some wicked stepmother. I could go on and on, but you get my drift. We’ve all read Grimm. A walk in the woods should be serene, peaceful, invigorating and somewhat educational. But every time I wander, I get the distinct notion that something is following me, watching me, wanting me. Nonsense. That’s just stuff of fairy tales.
Our property is bordered by the Appalachian Trail.
Designated a National Park it is well maintained, traveled and a beautiful hike.
We can cut right through our south meadow, go up the hill and there it is.
You go over the river and through the woods and walk for an hour along the trail, turn around and head home. The experience is great exercise and a wonderful place to run the dogs who claim it their own territory. Beware to the occasional hiker when they happen upon our three protective, barking Vizsla during an otherwise pleasant walk along nature’s finest path. George takes the dogs out every Saturday and Sunday. I usually stay home. Exercise and hiking have become mundane to me. I enjoy the time alone without 12 little clawed feet and two human underfoot.
I do worry that the dogs will get lost or hurt, but I know one of them will come home and do the Lassie thing if George has fallen and can’t get up.
Now don’t get me wrong. I like having this National treasure in our backyard.
The Appalachian Trail is an interesting phenomenon.
It originated as a pedestrian super highway from Maine to Georgia. The Indians would trod seasonally up and down the trail selling their wares, beads and pelts and whatever Indians traded in those days.
It was all about commerce. It wasn’t about pleasure. Plus I hear that many Indian curses were placed along the trail guaranteeing good travel, trade, misfortune, big boy children and other things from mundane to down right scary. I’m sure there is a curse in my backyard! At least I hope so!
This path wasn’t hacked out of the woods. It was the migratory path of the white tail deer. They walked back and forth for centuries and their cloven hooves produced a rather nice little trail over and under things that made our two legged upright biped’s life much easier. When the white man moved in, took over and not so pleasantly moved the Indians further west, they forgot to tell the deer to move also. Today we are still over run by these Bambi’s and sometimes we run over these Bambi’s who eat our vegetables, drop ticks in our meadows and attract all sort of wildlife from the food chain. Nature’s food chain isn’t needed anymore. We have supermarkets to fill our cupboards.
Up and down, back and forth, these nasty four legger’s, to this day, behave like it were the year 300AD for God’s sake! They seem to be accompanied by all the forest. You remember that wonderful Disney scene of Bambi’s world? All the denizen of the forest living, romping and playing happily together? Yup, that’s my back yard.
We have wild turkey that strut their stuff picking grubs and worms out of the meadow. Stupid ugly birds, they can hardly fly when the dogs chase them away. We’ve had the Fox Family live at the bottom of the meadow for two seasons.
Mr. Fox was quite bold trotting up and down the road as if he owned it. Five kits huddled close to the edge of the woods and would come out at dusk or dawn to romp and play. The kit’s scream at night when Mon and Dad go foraging for food. Their screams sound like real human babies crying and it’s very discerning to wake at 2AM to human babies being left in the woods by their wicked stepmothers probably to be eaten by Coyote’s.
The Family Fox left and never came back once we got Buddy. Guess they didn’t like his barking.
Mrs. Bobcat roams the hillside and sends Buddy into the most uncontrollable fits.
We also have coyote, but they prove to be elusive. I’ve only seen one once through the eerie morning mist. However, you certainly can hear them far or near when they take a deer down. They scream and howl in triumph, frustration and anger as the pack positions for who gets to eat the best parts. It’s just another nasty way to be wakened at 2AM. Of course, all three dogs jump out from under the covers and join in the cacophony of noise. Very unpleasant, but just another price you pay for living in the woods.
Skunks, yes Buddy and Blaze have both been skunked. That’s an episode unto it’s own.
We’ve also had raccoons looking rabid as they peer in the window at us.
You name it. we’ve got ‘em. All creatures great and small traversing the Appalachian have stopped by to say hello and wonder who the Hell are we and why are we on their trail?
A few springs ago while these nature things were waking up from their winter slumber and starting to walk from Maine to Georgia, we were having a very smart little Saturday Evening Barbeque. Guests James and Kilian were in from Germany, Stancy and Carrie from down the road and Ned and Arlene up from the city. I think there was another couple but I don’t really remember.
Anyway, it was around 6 in the evening and a beautiful spring day, the sun setting and dusk just around the corner. Our picture perfect colonial house sitting in the woods on a hillside, doors wide open and windows flung wide.
A perfect setting, the night could hardly get better.
All of the guests are in the house with the usual yakking, laughter, ‘4 conversations going on at the same time’ sort of party in progress.
With the wine and vodka flowing, hor d’ourves serving, I decide it’s time to go outside to fire up the BBQ. Last season’s grease still coated the inside of the grill so I fire up the propane, set it on high and went back inside to refresh my drink while it smoked itself clean.
A few minutes later I’m back outside at the grill in order to shut the lid.
It was really smoking up a signal. The Grill sits perpendicular to the house right outside the back door. From that point, the backyard is about 100 feet to the top edge of our hill. It’s quite a drop off that slides all the way down to the river. If you fall over the edge you could really hurt your self as you tumble abyss like.
Anyway, as I stand at the grill, hand on lid handle, out of the corner of my eye is see black movement rising over the top of the hillside edge, coming my way.
Damn black cat I say to myself.
However, the black cat got big enough to get my full attention, turn my head and actually look eye to eye directly at something that peed my pants. Slowly I put the lid of the BBQ down and more slowly backed into the house. My only thought was where are my dogs. I back up into the house whisperquietlike and shut the door and lock it. The roar of the crowd shook me to my senses. I see both dogs are inside and part of the party begging for food. I run to the front door and shut it, lock it.
I turn to our guests matter of factly say, “Everybody….everybody…(a little louder now) EVERYBODY….
No one would pay attention to me. Everybody was having such a time they didn’t even know I was there.
With great forcefulness and my voice pitched just a little too high to be acceptable in our local bar, I actually scream,
“MAY I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION, PULEEEEEZE!”
( Where that phrase came from I’ll never know.)
You could hear a pin drop….complete stunned, silent faces looked at me. My guest’s expressions were somewhere between ‘is he hurt?’ to “has he been drinking too much?’
Attention gathered, I take a counter tenor of a breath and scream even higher,
“THERE’S A BEAR IN THE YARD!”
Stunned silence continued for a few seconds and then the biggest mass of excited chatter from 8 or 10 big city ex patriots, saucer wide eyes, Buddy and Blaze barking wildly, all rush to the back windows as if I’d just announced Tom Cruise jumping naked outside on some lumpy sofa. If you had been an old lady you would have been stampeded and crushed.
Right outside the window, had it been open if you could touch him, was a fully grown 250 pound male black bear. He seemed annoyed, uninterested in the hysteria inside or what was on the barbeque. Looking rather dumpy and forlorn, he wandered over to the pine trees making his way along the north side of the house toward the road.
I vaguely remember demanding that no one open a door and let the dogs out. Should we all lie down of the floor and play dead as it sniffs our heads after it breaks in? People were asking for a camera and mine’s broken. Ned claimed his camera was in their convertible and I really think we had to forcibly stop him from running outside to retrieve it. Everyone was talking at once and the dogs had reached a high level of hysteria.
By this time the big fella was slowly plodding past the convertible toward the road and we all ran into the bathroom on the north side of the house to watch him. A ridiculous scene. All 16 or 20 feet in unison then trot into the living room in the front of the house and watched him slowing traverse the road and disappear up the west hill, headed for another neighbors house. He was gone. Just like that. Never looked back. He didn’t like us.
He didn’t cause mayhem and destruction. He just went about his hairy way. How disappointing. No doubt he was upset at not receiving an invitation for dinner. After all, we were only serving chicken.
Collective adrenalin rushed and continued to do so for minutes to come. I remember I kept repeating that no one open the door or let the dogs out. I got on the phone and alerted the neighbors to run for safety.
Now the drinks were really pouring! I notice that Stacy and Kilian are outside across the street, cocktails in hand, hiking up the hill after our bear. I pour myself another stiff one!
I’m sure we were all able to make it to the table that night and enjoyed a marvelous meal and continued the typical good conversation that usually rounds the table.
I’m certain I was scolded several times by ‘the George look’ of ‘that’s enough’ as I repeatedly recreated my pronouncement in a quintessentially queer rendition of Florence Foster Jenkins warbling, “THERE’S A BEAR IN THE YARD”. I didn’t care..everyone was laughing! Our uninvited, unwelcomed and disappointingly absent guest was the topic du nuit.
I didn’t let my dogs out that night unless I had them on a leash, thoughts of dog disembowelment dancing through my head.
I think everyone made it home to bed or into the guest rooms that night for a good nights sleep. I hope so!
.
Somewhere up the hill, in a cave./’;, I’m sure Papa Bear was telling Mama Bear as they tucked in Baby Bear about a bunch of lunatics he had happened across that evening on his way home from work. He warned Baby Bear never to go down the hill to that white house with the red roof. He must have been totally disgusted by those upright walking animals making loud noises and pointing and yelling at him from inside. He clucks his tongue and says, “this neighborhood has never been the same since those ‘red’ upright walking animals left and the white ones moved in!”
We haven’t seen our bear or any other since then. Locals have reported sightings now and then in the Harlem Valley Times. Stancy told me recently that the town game warden was seen driving by with a black bear, shot dead and tied to the back of his truck.
I hope it wasn’t my bear. As long as he doesn’t come to dinner again he can do what ever bears do do in the woods… along with all those evil little men under the bridge, the Big Bad Wolf, dead children’s souls crying and all the other wild and mysterious things that follow and watch you when your alone out there.
I really do love living in the country and love the wood surround.
It’s the perfect place for friends to come for the weekend, have great parties, food and wine. Nature visits us upon some occasions and the sheer joy from our guests gathering outside at night to watch the stars, a once in a lifetime visit by some Japanese Named Comet or the flurry of a million fireflys lighting up the meadow, makes me really appreciate where we live and what we have.
It will be hard to top the Bear Coming to Dinner evening. Our guest list sadly lacks in wildlife.
But you never know, something just as exciting might be in store for us at any moment along the Appalachian Trail. Something different.
Rumpelstilskin perhaps?
I feel another theme party coming on…..
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