Face in the Snow
Little dramas with animal neighbors connect in a snowy romance.
While living in the Hobbit House in Truckee, CA, there was a vacant lot just beyond the patio. This provided a parade ground for most of our wildlife viewings. Deer, raccoons, bears, and coyotes migrated between greenbelts free of worry from hunters or other destructive human activity. These animals were our neighbors. As such, they were far more well-behaved than some of the rowdies from Silicon Valley who would literally bay at the moon at 3 o'clock in the morning.
Usually, coyotes sang in much more enchanting tones. There were two coyotes that appeared at various times outside our windows, always at night. Their songs haunted the woods, but one in particular broke my heart with her cries.
Actually, it was more like screaming. She mounted the car-sized boulder in the greenbelt and sent out a lament to her people that seared my soul.
At that time, Jeff commuted to the Bay Area to work, spending weekends at home. This twelve-year hell made for some lonesome times. Each Monday morning, I watched his car bump down the road to the highway, watching it flash between houses, until he was gone. The bed soon chilled from his absence. Occasionally, as I splayed across the vast expanse of the bed, the coyote would begin her song, a high-pitched whine loud enough for her people to hear her desperation across the valley. It became my song as well, burning into my own isolation in the night.
One night, an annoying midnight call to the bathroom was blessed by a stunning visitation. The full moon’s light gleamed across the snowy clearing just beyond the window. In the center, regal and wolf-size in his thick winter coat, stood a magnificent coyote male. I approached the window, hoping my movement wouldn’t frighten him.
How could such a strong and confident predator as this be spooked by a mere shadow in the strange box in the woods? Instead, he turned his head my way and stared at me. Or at least he stared at the dark glass reflecting his star-bedazzled world. I watched him for several minutes until my bladder reminded me of my original mission. Damn!
He made no movement as I backed away from the window and flicked on the light in the bathroom. When I returned to the bedroom, the clearing was empty. I stood there at the window, transfixed, hoping to see him wandering further through the woods. I grabbed the flashlight, shining it outward to catch his glowing eyes, but the reflection in the window blinded me.
As you can see, I'm not entirely cogent in the wee hours. For instance, why did I need the light on in the bathroom when a remarkable sight stood just outside my window?
This was one of those magical moments that flicker into one's view for a short glimpse then are never to be witnessed again. It was a gift to accept fully, without hesitation or distraction. Pay attention right now for it will soon be gone.
It was one of those Donner Party winters that Truckee is famous for. Over time, deep drifts buried the house except for a tall berm that canted away from the southern windows. Sunlight could still enter the house and warm its tile floors. Such was the genius of the Hobbit House. It used the energy of the sun to augment the wood heat from the stove. Thermal mass in the walls held the heat for hours. We didn't need a furnace.
The unusual twelve-foot berm, however, denied us a view of the forest. We may as well have been buried. Then a miracle sighting occurred.
Valerie and I were watching TV when suddenly, Val said "Mom, there's a face at the window."
How could that be? What Peeping Tom would bother tracking through the drifts just to look at us?
Glancing at the top of the berm, I spotted the face: a curious coyote checking out the source of light. She quickly pulled away as soon as she sensed our awareness.
Excited, we both raced to the slider, hoping to catch another peek at our visitor. We were treated to more than a peek. At the corner of the house where the berm sloped downward stood a pair of coyotes: the tiny female beside her magnificent mate. We all peered at each other for several moments. The silence of the night enhanced the sublime tension that hung between us.
I've often wondered if these two beautiful creatures were the same animals I'd seen before. Did the crying female finally find her mate in the gorgeous male that had stood outside my window? It doesn't really matter what's true here. It's just wonderful to encounter a pair of our neighbors, happy and safe in their companionship.
I had a similar experience with wolves. My parents in retirement lived on 60 acres in Northern MN. When my dad died my mother couldn't live out in the country alone, so moved back to Minneapolis. Family members would go up on some weekends, but since the 600' driveway didn't get plowed we had to snowshoe in. One lucky day i got to the yard area in front of the house as three wolves were walking past,no more than 40' away. One, I assume the male leader, stopped and looked right into my eyes that were looking at him. Just a couple of seconds, then he turned and lead them away. They apparently had gotten used to no one around so no longer avoided the house.
What a cool essay! I always love hearing coyotes when I’m out with the telescope at night. The magnificent views I’ve had of wildlife stay with me through the decades.