notes from a cabin
the city girl comes calling
I sit in a wingback chair looking out the window at high density housing for purple martins. I too live in a condominium and so feel a kinship. Because I have only been at the cabin for 30 minutes and because I have an insatiable thirst for order I have mentally numbered the units to keep track of the inhabitants.
It’s an irritation to me that the entrances to four of the 14 flats are not visible. Left to my own, I would take a hammer and shims to the doors that are unseen from my lazy perch. If I were maintaining such a dwelling I would take my rental payments from watching these creatures come and go. Never mind that the best real estate is precisely what I would condemn — i.e. that which has a view of the prairie lake. They can already fly. What’s it matter to them?
All of these ideas are due to me being human and as such, capable of great pettiness.
Most, if not all units are inhabited, and it is clear that the residents of #1 and #5 are extraordinarily industrious.
The martins fly wildly, hovering in the headwind, then changing course and disappearing swiftly from view. I see them above the lake and field before they return to their hidden nests. Their tireless collecting of insects on behalf of their fledglings is miraculous. I assume hundreds of bugs are captured within their mouths each time they cross the threshold to greet their young.
I wonder if I have been a fifth as useful at my residence with all the AGMs, board emails and ruminating I engage in.
I was told once by my therapist that if I were on a group meditative retreat in the deepest, most desirable depths of nature, that my nearest neighbour’s vitality would be endangered should he happen to have the unfortunate habit of regularly clearing his throat.
In this cabin, far from any human, I have just murdered a black fly. In the moments before the lethal impact, I wondered if we might be alone, just the fly and me. But then it began to charge towards my head and threatened to catch in my hair.
Bold, I think. Much bolder than that last fellow. There must be two and this one cannot be endured.
The fly’s remains are on the floor at my feet and I am undisturbed by animal. Though I’m a touch maudlin in my newly acquired solitude, I’m unrepentant.
Now that the fridge has stopped its irritating bleating, the ticking clock might want to take heed.
I wake just after 4 am, at the urging of my bladder. Too much tea before bed, I think in regret. I rise to use the outdoor facilities and reason that I can go back to sleep afterwards if desired.
I open the cabin door and am immediately greeted by the stunning contours of the waning crescent moon. There’s a thick fog hovering above the lake and a symphony of bird calls. A pelican in silhouette glides above. A hummingbird rests unworried and unhurried at a feeder. Coyotes call from the west and a family echoes them from the east. I’m in deep awe of the spectacle when a shocking sound comes from above me on the hill. A buck in rut in the spring? Not possible. I am mystified and a bit afraid.
The day has begun.
For the three nights that I’m here I’ve brought a modest pantry: grape tomatoes, spinach, cooked millet, a few oranges and cans of tuna, a bag of coffee my husband deemed “too hip” for him to drink, canned soda water and a bottle of Canadian whiskey. My hosts left sundry items, including a carton of eggs in the fridge.
Before bed I read a story courtesy of Mary Oliver that told of her harvesting and making a 13 egg omelette out of a snapping turtle’s eggs. She had happened upon the female reptile whilst on a walk and determined the animal’s task. Mary returned later and dug for the eggs which she carried home and sliced open to empty into a skillet. The tale horrified and disgusted me.
However, seeing the familiar carton in the fridge brought with it thoughts of rich yolks and a reckoning of Mary’s pleasure. Thus my appetite will not be denied.
After breakfast I will go on a walk. I’m not familiar with the trail as the last time I used it was by snowshoe over three years ago with Blake and my hosts, Trevor and Karen. I was pregnant and while we walked two threads of conversation emerged: Trevor (a naturalist) pointed out tracks in the snow and Karen (a doula) asked after my health and how the medical system was treating me.
Perhaps because I was in a delicate state, we rested on a frozen pond that had beaver lodges poking up around us. As we chatted, child birth became the prevailing topic. Karen spoke knowledgeably and even demonstrated various positions to try during contractions, highlighting that the way births are depicted onscreen is typically in stirrups, which decreases the diameter of the birth canal. She took advantage of her snowshoes to illustrate this position which caused my husband’s mouth to gape. Trevor, who I assume is well accustomed to this type of discussion, carried on unfazed with casual interjections about the nature surrounding us.
Today I will search out this same path despite my unfamiliarity, the coyotes’ yelps and the unidentified sound from the hill behind the cabin.
I also reflect on the advice my Grandpa Alec gave me when I was a girl:
“If you’re ever lost in the woods, kid, make sure you’ve brought yourself a pack of cards. Play a game of solitaire and you can bet someone will be by shortly to tell you where to move that jack.”
I douse myself in bug spray and then pack water, an EpiPen and fruit into a small bag. I loop a whistle around my wrist and tether a bear bell to my bag. The last item seems excessive, but I figure in the risk vs. rewards calculation that it’s worth it. The risk is that I look/sound stupid. The reward is that I will be noisy as heck.
I begin. I am Annie Dillard at Tinker Creek. I am Henry David Thoreau at Walden Pond. I am Neko Case in The Lung. I spy Saskatoon berry bushes. White anemone. Coyote scat. I snap photos of them and notice I’m without service to my phone.
Continuing on, I walk over a cattle gate and a barbed wire fence that is laying open on the ground. I visit the second cabin built by my hosts and assess whether I will sleep there tonight. Birds are singing everywhere. Grebes, warblers, swallows, sparrows and terns. My large rubber boots clomp along gracelessly while mourning doves coo.
Ahead I see a deer. An hour ago a thin yearling doe came browsing outside the window while I drank my second coffee. She had turned and headed down this path. I halt my walking so that I might not startle her and then note that it’s not a deer just beyond, but a wooden plank.
Disappointed, I tromp onwards over a wide path that winds through the dense bush. I pass a sign that reads “foot traffic only” and I’m tempted to take a picture. I don’t because there is a lake of sparkling water and shimmering wet grass on the sodden trail from a day’s rain and I am shamed to realize that I’m thinking of taking a selfie to document evidence of the English language.
A head pokes up out of the grass about 50 meters ahead. A coyote and I lock eyes. Unsure of what to do I continue to hold its gaze and act upon the only instinct that comes to mind: I issue a blast from my whistle. The coyote stares. I blow twice more and it jumps from the path and into the brush.
Embarrassed, I stand in place. What’s the next play? Was the coyote feeding on some fresh kill? Was that sufficient to keep it at bay? Are there more watching me from the trees? Am I already a goner?
I consider myself: Clumsy. Slow. Uneducated. Allergic to bees stings. Wearing branded yoga pants. A Tupperware citrus peeler packed for my US grown navel orange. SSRI meds on the counter in the cabin beside an enormous container of organic plant-based protein powder. An Invisalign retainer in my mouth.
I am humiliatingly human. If I die in this condition I will never live it down.
I decide the minnows at the end of the dock require observation and turn back.
july 11
Saskatchewan Jazz Festival
Saskatoon, SK
with Johnny Reid, Alex Cuba, Jeffery Straker
tickets
july 13
Big Flat Folk Festival
Eastend, SK
Presented by Eastend Arts Council
with Colter Wall, Blake Berglund, Del Barber, Noeline Hofmann, Zachary Lucky, Lachlan Neville, Gil and Wil
~ sold out ~
august 11
Skygazer Soirée
Conexus Arts Centre
Regina, SK
Presented by Regina Folk Festival
with Chantal Kreviatzuk, Great Lake Swimmers, Aysanabee and Merv XX Gotti
tickets
august 22
Silton Street Concert
The Platform
Silton, SK
Presented by Silton Recreation Board
Free Admission
september 7
Homestand Festival
Ross Wells Ball Park
Moose Jaw, SK
with 54•40, Toque, The Steadies
tickets
october 5
Grand Theatre
Indian Head, SK
Presented by Indian Head Theatre & Community Arts Inc.
I love how your brain and pen send me into such wonderful scenarios.