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[Clansgian AT wmconnect.com]

> >I started to get 'back to the land' in the 70's. But didn't follow 
> through,  
> much to my regret. 
> 

Last night I had occasion to breathe a bit in rhythm with the land here.

We've lost several goats over the past few weeks and finally I fingered the 
culprit as being bears or a bear.  The small weather that disappeared two 
days 
go was found in the creek, ripped open, and the liver missing.  Bear, and no 
mistake.  It is their MO to return after a day or two, after the rest of the 
carcass has ripened, and have left-overs.   So at dusk, I took down the Long 
Tom 
and loaded it enough to sharply discourage the bear from hanging about these 
climes.

I seated myself behind a tree and on top the bluff over the creek where the 
caprine remains lay.  The sliver of waxing moon was up and the sky still 
light. 
 I marked a star just at the tip of the craigy maple tree and estimated what 
time it would be when the star reached the bole down the trunk (I don't own a 
watch).

The toasty warmth left over from the October afternoon was being washed away 
by a dewy chill.  Tree frogs were giving one last encore and the woods around 
was ringing with screech owls.  There was an occasional 'ploip' of something 
dropping into the creek, the gods only know what that was.  Off in the 
distance, way up on the ridge, the milking was finishing up and there was the 
occasional flash of light from the milker's flashlight and the deep 'toing' 
of the 
cowbell.  The horse and donkey were on the knoll beginning their nightly 
feast.  
Equines only sleep an hour or two a day and generally graze all night if they 
can.

The sky darkened.  The stars came out in stark relief.  There are no 
artificial lights for miles.  The drought has reduced the normally 20' wide 
creek to  
a trickle and in the lulls between the tree frog/screech owl symphony, there 
was the light tinkle of creek water over the stones.

Like Sandy, I too had thoughts about 'back to the land'.  There are 
iconoclastic moments about the twenty years we've been in this very spot.  I 
used to 
have an old F250 with an oaken bed that served as farm truck.  A neighbor up 
the 
hollow had 40 white rock chickens he had tried to sell me and, silver tongued 
Devil that I am, in the end he gave them to me.  I had loaded up all the 
cages I had and soon we had the entire truck laden with clucking, squawking 
chickens.  On the way home I had to pass by George's and I stopped to talk 
for a 
while.  A couple of hours later, having done onhands research on the 
phenomenon 
of untaxed spirits, I thought I'd better head back.  So in the milky 
moonlight 
filtering through huge grandfather hemlock trees, and exercising due caution 
on the twisty narrow road down the hollow, in a disreputable old truck loaded 
high with indignant chickens ... I knew I was right where the cosmos intended 
for me to be.

Last night was another night like that.  I sat on the ground cross-legged 
with the shootin' iron on my lap intently listening across the flat for bear 
sign 
while the October mountian night unfolded.

Finally the star passed the bole in the tree and I knew it was later than 
bear are usually about.  But I was glad to be remined why I moved my living 
out 
to this mountainside.

By the bye, this morning when I checked the carcass, one haunch was missing.  
OK, the bear wins that round.  October is still full of nights, though.


James   </HTML>