February 26, 2011

I may be feeling beleaguered by the never-ending chores of winter: the shoveling, the raking of the roof, the bringing in wood, the shoveling, the raking of the roof, the bringing in wood. It seems to be a cycle that just repeats itself over and over. I wonder am I just going in a circle through time…yes in a way I am. Time circles through the seasons, back in upon itself and then reaches out through the years. The changes are highlighted by marks on a calendar, by a child growing up, leaving home, by the first gray hairs, the stiff joints, the soreness doing a chore that never bothered you before.
But I am already getting away from where I intended to head with this entry. Back to the drudgery of winter… and the highlights of the winter passing. The beauty and excitement has worn thin, until just the other day. Last year at this time, my humble home was visited by a barred owl that hung around for days waiting to catch some prey. On Thursday, I happened to be home, doing the mundane chore of folding laundry when I looked up and out my window. There about 8 feet from the edge on my house sat an overly large cat. It took me a second to realize this was no ordinary domestic cat, but the Bobcat my neighbor thought she saw a few days earlier. I got my camera and took many pictures through the window. It was obviously interested in the bird and squirrel activity at my bird feeder. It was hunkered ready to spring at the right moment. It paid no attention to me behind the glass, even when I tapped it gently to see if it would move. I wanted to get a photo of it showing its bobbed tail. I moved to another window to get a different angle. The bobcat accommodated me for a few more moments, then turned away an sauntered off into the woods.
At that point I called Tom, who lives next door. We donned our snowshoes and met on the trail between the two houses. We tracked the bobcat westward, and then it turned north, crossed the road and headed over a beaver flowage up toward the hill beyond. We didn’t follow it over the beaver pond, the snow and ice looked slightly questionable. But, I think I know where it dens. There is a mossy outcropping of rocks near the top of the hill overlooking a thick stand of pines. I may head up there one of these days. But then again, maybe the mystery is enough to hold me ever enchanted, and maybe too I need to respect its claim on a slope that isn’t mine.