My folks moved to a small farm when I was about 12 years old. That was fifty some years ago. When I say small, I mean small and when I say farm, I mean it was a farm only in the eyes of that 12 year old boy. What it was , was 10 acres of pasture, with a few wonderful features which made it heaven on earth to me. Number one was that it was surrounded by a mosaic of grain fields, woods, borders, creeks, and even a small marsh that I nicknamed the swamp. To this town kid, the whole area was brimming with wild creatures and wild places that were mine to explore and examine at my leisure.
I don’t ever remember even thinking about the fact that I was trespassing on private property, none of our neighbors ever complained so either they didn’t care or they just didn’t know how much time I spent wandering their woods and fields . I think now that they probably just didn’t know I was there . I didn’t leave much of a footprint and I don’t remember ever talking to anyone about it since I mostly kept to myself. It wasn’t intentional but I think I was pretty much invisible. My solitary ways is probably the most significant thing in developing my love of the natural world. It gave me time to really observe and attempt to understand what I saw. And as I’m sure all others who love Mother Nature as I do will agree, the more you know about her the more you love her. Along with that love of course , came a deep respect for all things wild, whether they be places, plants or animals.
I’m not sure what I’d have turned to if I hadn’t had wild things to occupy my mind. I just know that my love of nature has always and continues to be a very large part of who I am. It has been my drug of choice when trying to deal with the chaos around me.
But in spite of all the years I’ve been an observer of wild things I have to admit I can’t recite a lot of facts about most of it. I was never very studious, did poorly in school, except for biology and even that was somewhat of a struggle. Chemistry was so far over my head I got lost in the first month and never caught up. So I can’t call myself a scientist, I’m just someone who is happy to just observe and marvel at all the wonders around me, and someone who has trouble comprehending why everyone doesn’t see the beauty that surrounds us all. I am just someone who can and has, sat for hours, countless times, in a small blind watching whatever wildlife wandered into view, be it a bobcat prowling the river bank for it’s next meal or a small field mouse nervously fussing over it’s nest full of naked babies in the rotting stump just outside my hide.
I know that my words will mean nothing to some people but I also believe that there are some who will nod and smile. Sometimes I get the feeling that no one gets it but then I’ll read a diary where someone is excited to tell about the squirrels that are living in his or her yard or the mating habits of a box turtle and it’s like someone has given me a magic potion that chases away my worried thoughts, at least for a little while,because I know then that I'm not alone after all. Their words tell me that they care as deeply as I do about the same things I do. It’s those people that give me hope that we can somehow win the terrible battle that we are fighting to save ourselves, the planet, and all the fellow creatures we share it with. It is because of and for those people that I find the courage to express my feelings in this frightening first diary.