favorite things

“the deer are running… the thud of their hooves/on the bed of the stream/is the drum that rocks/the roots of the birch/and the wind that shakes/the birch tree’s leaves…” – “Deer,” Chris Powici

I have never seriously considered becoming a hunter. It is simply not in me to take the life of another creature for sport. Now, before I dig myself into a hole here, let me explain. I have no problem with the practice of hunting, especially for food, and I certainly take no issue with those who hunt, whether for pleasure or survival. I have even gone on hunts with friends and I enjoyed watching them. I just have no desire to hold the gun or pull the trigger.

This sets me somewhat outside of the culture here. Sure, not everyone in West Virginia hunts, but hunting is still a big deal. There is turkey season, bear season, squirrel season, and even rabbit season, each with its own schedule and rules set forth by the Division of Natural Resources. However, out here, deer is king. Rifle deer season begins the fourth Monday in November and lasts for two weeks. County schools give the first week of deer season off, as it also happens to be the week of Thanksgiving. During those two weeks, social media becomes loaded with pictures of bucks and does of all sizes and aside from the holiday, the woods are often echoing with gunshots.

I’ve never participated in deer season. I’ve considered asking friends to let me accompany them, but in the end, I always have too many other obligations. Besides, I don’t own the proper gear to sit in the cold all day long, and as much as I love the outdoors, I don’t want to turn into an ice sculpture. But last week, just for a few minutes, I became a deer hunter.

It was just around 8:45 PM when I made it back to town from night class. It was getting darker every second, and at first, all I could see was a dark shape move out across the road. My headlights illuminated the eyes and I realized that it was a deer. This was the first I’d seen at night since the cold struck in late January, so I was slightly shocked. As is my nature, I stopped to watch her cross the road onto the grassy banks of the river. Just as I began to accelerate again, I saw it out of the corner of my eye – a bright, white dog in the middle of the small herd of deer.

No, not dog… It was too large. I realized I was looking at a white deer. And just as that realization hit me, the herd began moving on out of sight. Before I could stop myself, I turned the car onto the street parallel to the river and followed them. I had to get closer, had to be sure I was really seeing it and not imagining it.

As I inched along slowly, I saw her again moving along the sloped embankment. Even from a distance she seemed huge, almost the size of the fourteen-hand mare we had growing up. The moonlight made her appear to glow in the dark, almost spirit-like, her white fur cast in a bluish glow. I tried to no avail to get a picture of her, only managing to get a grainy cell phone image before she disappeared over the embankment, vanishing as quickly and quietly as she came.

As I sat there silently cursing myself for not having my Nikon in the car with me, it dawned on me that this must be what hunting is like. The initial shock of seeing one’s prey, the thrill of the chase, the missed shot – it was like nothing I’d ever experienced before. I wanted so badly to have some tangible proof of her existence, something I could so the world so that they could maybe have the chance to experience the wonder I felt at her presence. I’ve heard too often that deer are vermin that destroy lawns and gardens, along with cars when they jump across the highway, and that life would be better without them. I can say for sure not that the latter part of that statement is not true, and I am certain the other hunters out there would agree with me.

I can only hope that I will be lucky enough to see her again, and maybe I will be fortunate enough to have my camera beside me next time. Until then, the white deer will haunt my memory. Just like the others who stake out the woods with their game cameras and those who curse under their breath when their aim is off, I now have my own story to tell about the one that got away.

“Sweet April showers do Spring May flowers.” – Thomas Tusser, A Hundred Good Points of Husbandry (1557).

This is a rhyme I have often heard but never thought too much of. In the Sonoran desert, our rainy season hits in midsummer, not April, and other than the rare perfectly manicured suburban lawn, there are not too many flowers to speak of in May. However, since my move into the mountains, I have developed a deeper connection with this age-old phrase, and with the change of seasons itself.

April is nearly over now, and it has certainly been a damp one. The state has experienced major flooding on multiple occasions, as well as a severe landslide at the end of the runway at Charleston’s Yeager Airport that has displaced several families from their homes. My heart goes out to those people who have been impacted by the weather, and I hope that they will be able to find solutions to the problems resulting from landslides all over the state very soon.

But, as my mother used to say, every cloud has its silver lining. The rains have been crucial to raising the water levels at lakes all across West Virginia, bringing them closer to summer pool for the upcoming recreational season. In addition, creeks, ponds, and temporary pools from the rain are beginning to teem with life as aquatic and amphibious animals have begun mating, and flowers are blooming everywhere. Never before have I seen so many trees, bushes, and lawns covered in blossoms. Even invasive species, like the dandelions and African violets covering our front yard, are a beautiful sight.

I find myself completely fascinated by the revival brought about in the spring. Watching the hillsides transform from shades of brown to shades of green with splashes of white, pink, purple, and red never ceases to amaze me. At times I feel as though my sense of wonder is childlike, and I cannot help but ask dozens of questions of the locals – “What kind of tree is that? What kind of flowers are those? How long will they bloom? Do they come back every year? Is that species indigenous to the area or did someone import it?” I think perhaps it is in our nature to take for granted the things we experience so often, because sometimes my questions grant me some very strange looks from the natives. However, I am always grateful to those who take the time to explain and share their experiences with me, because I want to soak up as much information about my home as I can.

My other springtime quirk is snapping as many flower pictures as I possibly can. I actually spent half an hour yesterday afternoon wandering around campus taking photographs on my cell phone before the sky opened up. Again, this tends to elicit some interesting looks, and I have no doubt that some of the bystanders were thinking to themselves, “Hasn’t that girl ever seen flowering plants before?” Little do they know that for all the years I spent surrounded by cacti and Palo Verde trees, I may as well not have. These blooms are unlike anything I ever saw growing up, and knowing that all too soon they will be replaced by a myriad of greens, I plan to enjoy their presence as much as my schedule will allow.

Here are a few of the photos I’ve snapped this week…

Now I feel like I am having a Julie Andrews moment where I could burst into song about all of my favorite things. Dew drops on roses and the smell of cut grass, bird calls and rainfall and lakes smooth as glass… But in all seriousness, springtime in the Mountain State is one of my most favorite things. When you have a moment, take the time to pause and observe the scenery changing around you. Who knows – you may just discover a new favorite thing or two.

west virginia wanderlust

The White Deer

April Showers and Mountain Flowers