Remembering the Trees

The blessing of a chance encounter in the woods

(This story originally appeared in Wild Roof Journal, an awesome publication. Be sure to check them out!)

I hate that I can never remember tree names.  Just hate it.  So a few months back I drove 18 miles west, out to Muleshoe Bend, a natural area along the shores of Lake Travis, determined to teach myself tree names.  I parked at a familiar campground, sunk my coffee mug back in the cupholder, grabbed my copy of Gustafson’s Naturalist’s Guide to the Texas Hill Country off the passenger seat, and set out on a little trail I know.

It was late morning, a late fall day in central Texas.  The light drizzle in the air felt refreshing on my face, the cool temperature easily managed with my thin fleece jacket.  The grasses had browned to match the dirt, acorns fallen across the trail in spots where oaks overhung.  A few trees showed off fall colors.  Most clung to dull green leaves.

At my first turn in the trail a doe almost ran me over.  Flat out.  She sprinted directly toward me, caught sight of me at the last minute, and turned to her left to crash through the brush rather than into me.  I had hardly a moment to process this close encounter when down the trail charged her suitor, a three-year-old eight-point buck with one thing on his mind.  He saw me only just in time and jolted to his right, ran another twenty feet into a clearing, snorted loudly, and paused to look around.

My heart pounded hard in my chest, and I made efforts to slow my heavy breathing.  I didn’t dare to move.  The buck and I stared at each other until I turned to see the doe, now pausing in an oak mott to my right and staring right back at me.  I can’t remember who moved first in this white-tail-hiker standoff.  I think it was the doe who started walking.  The buck then bounded, and off she ran, and I watched as they disappeared in thick brush. 

Are you kidding me?  I almost got run over by two deer in the rut.  I had to take a minute to recover before resuming my tree-hunt.  Though I had hunted deer all my life, I had never walked so close to wild deer doing wild deer things so wildly, with no deer blind or truck door or fence line to separate us. 

And yet as incredible as it had been to experience their chase so intimately, I hated to have broken up their dance.  Did I just disrupt the natural order?  Did I just ruin a beautiful courtship?  But so it was.  They ran to me, not I to them.  And maybe some good will come from this brief human interruption. 

Maybe I helped that doe escape a buck she didn’t much care for.  Maybe it was meant to be, like the off-handed comment that leads to a breakup that leads to your being available and having your eyes open when you finally meet the love of your life. 

Or maybe the shared shock of the human-in-the-trail would bring these two lovebirds closer together, and my little interruption would become a part of their story, and for years they would bore their fawns with the story of the man mommy and daddy almost ran over as they were falling in love. 

I want to do a better job remembering that the little interruptions in our life play an important role.  I so often remember the good things—a fine trail, a mountain view, a peaceful morning on the water, a project gone well, a glorious solstice sunset, the teapot in the sky, the shooting stars, my daughter’s laughter. 

But may I also call to mind those blessings disguised as interruptions—the breakups, the bankrupt plans, the setbacks, the missed exits, the chance encounters, the misplaced keys—and not forget them like so many tree names!  These may just be the master strokes, the providential orchestrations of a loving Creator.

I came away that day with a working knowledge of cedar elm, ashe juniper, agarita, elbowbush, Roosevelt weed, mesquite, live oak.  A good day’s work.  I also flushed up some cardinals, two dove, a few house sparrows and a roadrunner.  There were other birds, but I can never remember their names.

• What interruptions or disruptions have led to unexpected blessings in your life?