4) Safe or Unsafe

Again, I took a few more steps. Just beyond a tree stump, I saw it. I scared it more than it scared me because the minute I greeted it as a sweet little thing, she struggled intensely to get her horns out of the barb wire fence. It was a little, white, very pregnant pygmy goat who got caught in the wires while trying to get a nibble of the raspberry plant just beyond. I suppose I really did save its life. From what I've heard, those goats are not very smart, and will die before trying to escape any trap most times.

Getting back to the issue at hand: I want a dog out here. If I had a dog, I am certain I would not have gone walking blindly into a forest. My self-assuredness would not have waned, and I would have followed the dog into the forest without a need for a gun or knife to keep me safe. Was it safe for me to go? I don’t know. I know I’ve seen many deer running through the clearing. I know the stories I’ve heard of the bear outside the window, and the wolves devouring their prey on the side of the road. I do know that I had an extremely exciting journey for those 15 minutes in the wild whether or not I was safe.

So I had a successful adventure out in the woods by myself! That hardly makes me savage, but I think I broke in the city girl fright by immersing her into a soup of wild life. I was in it, surrounded by it, hearing it, seeing it, breathing it, holding it, letting it go, letting it in me, and saving it as it saved me. I'm learning slowly that the flora is not so scary. It's just a bunch of bushes, and hopefully I'll be rescuing a stranded or hurt animal more often than running into a bear or wolf in my new home land.

3) The Thrills and Chills of the Wild

I stopped when I got to the edge of the clearing where the thick forest began, to listen for the crying again. Yes, I was getting closer. The crying was louder, and seemed only a couple dozen feet away. Hoping I wouldn't run into any wild animals, and hoping that the sound really was an infant and not a bear, I called nervously into the blinding green, "hello". I gasped suddenly because the crying had stopped when I spoke. Whatever it was, it knew I was there, and it knew I was coming. "Hello!" I called out to let it, (whatever it was), know that I was not spooked, and I was still making my way.

Every few feet I paused to listen for which direction the sound came from, and continued pressing on. I stepped over fallen trees, broken limbs, sharp and pointy plants, and flowers. I pushed small flexible trees, dead branches, and everything with leaves out of my way; letting them fling back behind me as I let go. Pausing again, I listened and then called out again, "Hello!" I listened for any resemblance of a word from the crying hoping all the while that it is really, in fact, a human and not a baby bear. I thought I heard it answer for a moment. It sounded like an attempt at saying hello, but then again it could be my imagination playing tricks on me.

The crying started up again. This time, the it was softer, but closer. I stood in my tracks as still as the trees around me peering through the branches trying to see past that log, and that small pile of rubble just beyond. I still could not see what was making the noises, and stood there mostly frozen for a good five minutes. Each minute passed as though it were an hour. I literally stood still unable to move for a solid 5 hours in my mind. Finally, I began to breathe again and the fright slowly faded into curiosity. I figured if I don't move and find out what this thing is 12 feet away from me, I will stand here forever wondering.

2) A Gentle Cry in the Distance

There was a day recently, in which having a dog would have come in handy. I had my first opportunity to act like a real life "Jack Pine Savage". A local so eloquently described for me the "forest people" here. He referred to them as “Jack Pine Savages”, and warned me to stay away from those types. I played it cool like I had met them before and could take care of myself, like the good, strong, independent California girl that I am. When, in fact, I still have no idea what he was talking about. So, I'll conjecture a bit, and get back to the "Jack Pine Savage" subject another day when I understand what he really meant. Suffice it to say that I am way off track.

Last week while my father was out getting groceries in town, I was shoveling the dirt out of his raised garden terrace so we could move it to our new home 8 miles down the dusty road. Off in the distance, I heard a soft cry, I tried to ignore it like I had been ignoring most of the sounds of the forest that morning. I was intensely focused on burning as many calories as I could before the sun came overhead, and the shadows of the trees no longer hid me from him. A half hour went by - maybe 250 calories burned - and the sad sound got louder in my ears with every minute that passed. It sounded like a child, about 18 months, crying like he was lost in the woods. My first thought was that sounds can be deceiving in the forest, so I went inside to find one of my father's guns. I felt so silly. I was going to go for a little stroll only about 50 yards away, and I thought I might need a gun? Regardless of the embarrassment of the situation if anyone had seen me, I still looked for something that would make a loud noise and maybe hurt something trying to hurt me.

I looked in every room for a simple .22 rifle, and all I found were shotguns. I have never fired a shotgun before, and none were loaded anyways. Why was it my first instinct to get a gun? It's probably nothing. Frozen from curiosity, I listened more closely to the cries. I thought it could very well be a baby bear who is stuck in a bramble or up a tree. If there is a mama bear anywhere nearby, I'd better be prepared. The guns were so heavy, and I have not been through any gun safety classes. If it came down to it, I would probably use it like a bat anyways. So I grabbed a very sharp hunting knife. Not thinking about how completely unprepared I really was, I began my slow, cautious walk through the waist-high grass in the direction of the cry.

1) My First Time

I lived in Orange County, CA for my entire adult life, and I've recently come out to the country in the middle of a Northern Minnesota forest. I did not grow up in Minnesota, my parents did. They raised me out west, and then decided to both go back to where they came from. Dad went north, and Mom went south. I suppose they didn't understand why I wanted to return to the warmth of the California sunshine. I can tell you now that it was not because I didn't want to see them, not because I was angry. Frankly, I don’t know what brought me out to California. I think it might have had something to do with acting. I believe a close runner up was simply to refrain from freezing. I’m up in Northern Minnesota now to help out my aging father regardless of where he raised me, the good ole warm and sunny West.

For obvious reasons - not to obvious to me for the duration of the relationship - I left my brief husband, and I am filing for a divorce. I'm learning what it's like to live where people eat from their gardens, and to hunt or fish for their meat. They remind each other to "winter well" in the fall, and wish me, the newbie, luck through the cold. I'm here in fall getting ready for my first winter in Northern Minnesota; to take care of my father who has recovered from a stroke. I want to be with him, and he wants to be here in the near-wild. Here I am making a living for myself in a foreign land with people who don't even say the word "soda" - rather than a fizzy drink, conjure up a vision of the white powder used in baking. If you've ever seen the movie, "Fargo", you know the types. They're all a little nerdy and talk like they're from some outlying Scandinavian land. It's taken me a little while to understand what the locals are saying. It seems like they're all talking through their smiles. Is that what they mean by "Minnesota Nice"?

I think I'll have a vegetable garden out here, and possibly raise chickens. I've never lived like this, and since it's my first time here, it should be a first for doing a lot of things I've never experienced and always wanted. First, though, I'll need a dog to chase away the badgers, muskrats, and the occasional bear.