Visitors/ Dear Mr. Klinkenborg

Dear Mr. Klinkenborg

Summer is two weeks behind here.  The Oak trees in my backyard have fat branches of dark green leaves stretching almost onto our deck. The Maples' branches are reaching out, creating thick green webs of shiny topped leaves in the forest.

Two wild Turkeys have taken up residence in the forest behind our house. They like the neighbor's sand box for scratching. They walk, bobbing their heads, almost like a snake scenting the air with their all beak faces. I recognize their call now; a sort of rumbling, girl voice sound.

Every time I make my way down the deer path onto the tar trail far below my house, I watch for the Turkeys. I would hate to run into one; although they are generally shy of us. I imagine walking into the nest by accident and having that big body with the darting snake like beak try to bite me. Unfortunately, I have this memory of a being on a run and having to go through a group of Canadian Geese, regally progressing down the sidewalk. I avoided the biggest group but two of them stopped and hissed, then ran after me trying to bite me. Canadians Geese have visible teeth. I have read being startled makes memories stronger. It certainly brings that one up easily. I am hoping enough non encounters with the Turkeys and the Geese will help.

A few weeks ago, our yearly visitor, a large Tortoise, crawled up from the pond nearby to lay her eggs somewhere near our house. She came the first few years to the front of our house, which had been a meadow and her egg laying ground. She tried to lay her eggs in our mulch. Eventually, she gave up and walked back to the pond to an audience of myself and my children. We were fascinated if guilty about taking away what was clearly a ritual.

Now, I feel a bit guilty with every visit. I think she has found a new place or she just circles the house and lays them in the forest. She is a woman with a mission. This year, I admired her ponderous progress, neck lifted, dark eyes looking eagerly, unafraid forward on her way back to the pond, only stopping briefly when our dog on the other side of a window, barked in high pitched, endless excitement.

Silly dog completely misses the Fox though. The Fox pokes a head through the same bushes every once in a while, weaving his thin body between two trees and disappearing down the ravine. Another ritual? A favorite walk that yields food? Foxes almost seem mythical. Seeing them is always a glimmer, almost a mind trick like did I really see a fox?

During the day the forest is quiet, almost picture still, in the high summer, heat soaked air. I like the visitors reminding me of life ongoing; us small creatures continuing on against a backdrop of this large, green world. We seem to share this space, this forest, this trail pretty well. And I am grateful to be known, enough, to be carefully ignored and to see them.