Every time I think I might have her figured out, nature reminds me that such belief is folly. She consistently humbles, and every once in a while, makes me look like a dawgone fool. But I would rather live in her world than in some man-made, gadget-centric one. I would truly be the fool if I stayed in the house all day tethered to some electronic gadget or thought that sixty hours a week in some office would be a good use of my time.
I don’t go to an office anymore, at least not the bricks and mortar type. The woods, the sky above and the dirt under my feet are my office, no desk and no passive-aggressive boss digging subtly at my performance. I lived that life but came to the realization a long time ago that the fate of the free world didn’t depend upon me, or really anyone else for that matter. That has been one of the most liberating revelations for me. I have learned that a slice of “Humble-Pie” really doesn’t taste that bad and I’ve met quite a few people through the years that should have a big slice on their plate.
Thinking back, I can remember quite a few times when nature played me for a fool. This usually happened when I became a bit too cocky, a bit overconfident in my skills as an outdoorsman. Whether being chased into the undergrowth by a cow moose, dive bombed by a great horned owl, attacked by a blue jay, or being the recipient of multiple bee stings, these moments and many more have served to bring me down a couple of notches.
Just this morning, I was hiking in Brown County State Park and stepped on a moss-covered rock lying hidden under the leaves. My feet went flying out from under me and down I went, butt first. As I quickly got up, I pondered two questions – If I am alone in the woods and take a tumble am I still embarrassed and did I still instinctively look to see if anyone had seen me? Affirmative on both counts.
I recall a rather humorous occasion a few years ago when I played the fool in front of a live audience. While in Ohio visiting family for the holidays, a number of my fellow revelers decided to walk off the afternoon meal. Enjoying the uncharacteristic warmth of a late December day, we wandered over to the neighbor’s pond.
Rounding the corner of their house, I spied a great blue heron at pond’s edge. Quickly I prepared my camera for what I was sure would be among the best photographs ever taken of this bird. Shooting rapid fire, I stealthily approached the heron constantly motioning to the enthralled crowd to stay back lest they startle it to flight.
I marveled at how still the heron was, wondering whether it was in search of prey or just deep in thought. I crept ever closer while my daughters, staying close behind, were busy in chatter. All the while I was constantly shushing them like a librarian lest the perfect photo be ruined. As I stepped closer and closer to this magnificent bird, I could begin to see the outline of each feather, ever more enthralled that it remained still and had not yet taken flight.
When I was a mere twenty feet away, I began to wonder whether I might be able to pose with it for pictures. It was then that I realized that I was actually stalking a decoy. Uproarious laughter broke out among the “audience” as they also realized the folly of our pursuit, the anti-climactic drama in which I played the “fool”.
Some thirty photographs of this “bird” remain on my hard drive. Humbled and fooled, I have kept them as a reminder that if I think I have nature figured out she will remind me that I am just a mere human in her world. But, I would much rather be played for a fool at the edge of a pond than at some boardroom table.
