Rural Routes, Blog Version

Dr. Seuss’s “To Think That I Saw it on Mulberry Street” is a favourite of mine and recent bans have not changed my opinion of the book.

I have always loved the story because it speaks of creativity and how far our imaginations can take us. Mulberry Street is a place of exuberance and joy,

Wherever we live, the things that we see and hear can trigger thoughts and stories and a desire to learn more. Given the times we live in, exuberance and joy are not commonplace in Winnipeg these days, but there is still plenty to see.

THE GRAY DUFFLE BAG

Last summer I often saw a homeless man in the area where my dog and I walk. His long gray hair made him easily recognizable and he was never without a gray duffle bag. Sometimes I saw him taking a nap on the grass, using the bag as a pillow.

As summer moved towards fall and the foliage died, I discovered what appeared to be a makeshift camp in a clump of trees on what used to be a golf course. Among the many bags on the site was a gray duffle bag.

When winter’s snow disappeared, the bags and belongings were still there. But now as we head into summer once again, they are gone.

Many people own gray duffle bags and I cannot say for sure that the one I saw in the bush belonged to the man I used to see carrying one.  I haven’t seen him again since last summer.

I make up stories about that bag and what might have happened to its owner, why someone who never went without his bag would leave it behind.

The man with the long gray hair had a real story, not the story inside my head. I hope he is all right.

Deer

We found a dead dear on the old golf course a few days ago. It was a young female, probably last year’s calf.

Scavengers had already destroyed about a third of the carcass by the time the dog and I saw it.

Human beings are the most common cause of deer fatalities, whether by hunting or vehicular collision. It’s not impossible, I suppose, that the animal was injured on a nearby street and dragged itself to the safety of the green space before dying.

It’s also not impossible that the animal was diseased. Nor that one of its most common predators – a common coyote, for example – killed it.  There have been reports of coyotes in the city.

A day or so later, the dog and I found another corpse, this time a much older one with desiccated bones and only a few remaining tufts of hair. Without its hooves, I might not have been able to identify the animal. It was a young fawn.

My farmer father used to say “If you have livestock, you have dead stock” and the same could be said of wildlife. Where you find wildlife, you will find wild death.

Both farm and wild animals can be attacked by predators. Both can be infected with a disease or poisoned by fatal toxins. Large animals can be struck by lightning.

We found the corpse of the young deer in a bush located between a hospital and a new construction area. The area was full of honeysuckle, caragana and lilac shrubs, a sign to me that once upon a time there were houses here whose owners planted flowering shrubs on their property. The houses are gone, but the shrubs remain, and this is the time of year when their scent and colour are the most potent.

Later that same day, we saw three living deer – a young male and female who seemed to take an interest in us, venturing closer rather than keeping their distance. A third female was not so brave.

In the midst of life we are in death. So says the Book of Common Prayer and it is a phrase that has been borrowed by many writers and speechmakers. The live deer walk only yards from where the dead lie.

Elm samara

A movement just within my range of vision alerted me to the presence of someone in my back yard, or rather the common element area of the backyard space outside our condo.

A woman held an elm tree branch in her right hand. She swiped downwards and the elm seeds fell into the large metal bowl in her left hand. When the bowl was full, she turned and went into the condo beside us.

I had never seen her before, but we don’t often see people in that condo. She might have been the owner; she might have been a guest; we don’t know.

She would return several times over the next two days, filling her metal bowl with elm seeds each time.

I learned last year that such winged seeds are called samaras and that they are edible . You’re supposed to harvest them when they are still young and green. My research now suggests that they taste like sweet fresh peas. They are an excellent addition to almost any salad.

Trying out any of the recipes I have seen will have to wait till next year. The seeds have turned a creamy white and the slightest breeze sends them spiraling to the ground. Some land on my clothing and the dog’s back as we go for our walks.

Masks

Years ago, in another life when I was a 4-H mom and leader, we would spend one Saturday in May clearing litter from a specified length of highway. 4-H club members from all parts of Manitoba participated.

In the earliest days of our family participation, empty soda pop cans were easily one of the most common items we would find and put into our garbage bags.

As the years went on, the number of pop cans decreased. Suddenly we were finding plastic water bottles instead.

I still see pop cans and water bottles, but I also see plastic bags, take out food containers, diapers, hygiene products, used tissues, items of clothing and more. We humans are not a neat and tidy bunch.

Nowadays I also see a lot of face masks – mostly the disposable kind, but also cloth masks that someone probably searched vainly for when they returned home.

They probably fell unnoticed out of pockets. Dare I suggest that it would have been much harder to lose them if they had been attached to a pair of ears?

I don’t know. These days it seems even the most innocuous question can elicit unexpected responses. Masks are just one of many triggers.

And to think…

If Dr. Seuss were here, he might ask me, “And what did you see on your walks in Winnipeg?”

My thoughts would take flight with memories of gray duffle bags, deer hooves, lilac scent, seeds that taste like peas, the masked and unmasked.

But then I would say, “Nothing really. Just the usual.”

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