Temporary Sanctuary

We live in suburbia, but our house is near foothills, and it butts up to a business that has a large field.  Hawks, quail and raccoon live in that field, along with an assortment of adorable rodents that our cats periodically kill and proudly bring home.

Bee can't get enough of The Field.  He's sooo thrilled he found a house that doesn't have neighbors behind it.  He can watch the sun set on the foothills, listen to the birds, and run around naked in the back yard.  Not that he would.  Recently.



I grudgingly admire the field.  I should admire it more, but I have leftover feelings of frustration that Bee was too attached to this house, much because of The Field, to move to a new home when we got married.  Nothing I said could persuade him.  I even tried a soft ultimatum: maybe, I suggested, we shouldn't get married until he was ready to start a fresh life together.

My ultimatum didn't work.  Bee let me know that there was no way he could uproot his son, his business, and his way of life so we could enjoy the added stresses of selling two houses and searching for a whole new one with a new 30-year mortgage in the midst of planning a wedding.  And where else would we find a suburban house like this that didn't have neighbors on every side?  What other properties in this area had a kick-ass field behind them?  Moving right now would be too much pressure, and Bee felt he would just shut down.

I thought about it for awhile, and realized he was right.  Or, at least, smart.  Staying in this house made more sense, so I moved in.  But, pathetically, I've never been quite able to get over having to start our life together on unequal footing; having to carve a niche for my property in amongst his already-established kingdom.  I really would have liked to have been on neutral territory when we moved in together.  So I blame that field.

But I admire it, nonetheless . . . though I won't admit as much to Bee.  It's been a thrill to see the wildlife so close to our home.  I still can't get over seeing deer.  I suppose new houses are encroaching on the deer's habitat in the foothills, so -- ironically -- they need to come into town to survive.  The first time I saw a deer back there, it was several years ago, and it was a buck.  It was spring, and he was just growing his antlers.  I made a big deal of telling Bee and S.B. that we needed to be sure not to feed it, since I knew the buck would become aggressive during the fall rut.  He didn't stay that long.  We saw him one more day before he disappeared.

The second time we had deer, it was earlier this winter, and it was a group of five does.  I was ecstatic they were there, but -- at the same time -- it made me very sad.  How terrible it must be as a wild animal to try to eek out your existence in the middle of suburbia.  They must have spent their days in the foothills, then crossed the nearby semi-busy road and walked down the street, past at least fifty houses, to get to this field.  They spent the night in the field, but left in the morning.  The scary thing is that they were still in that tiny field at nine a.m.; did they go back to the foothills after that? If so, how did they cross that road now that there's a lot of traffic on it?  If they didn't go back to the foothills, where did they go?  Did they spend their day hiding behind some deadfall, trembling at each started lawnmower and every passing dog?

The group of five does has not come back.  A single doe re-appeared just a few weeks ago, and disappeared again mid-morning when someone several blocks away started a chainsaw.  I wondered what happened to all her companions.  I wondered if she'd feel safe enough to come back.  I wanted to tiptoe to our fence line, toss her some food scraps, and let her know, somehow, that she was safe there in the field . . . for now.  But any time she even caught me watching her from my bedroom window, her body tensed with alertness; I knew even stepping into our backyard would cause her to bolt.

I am upset she has to live life this way.  I am sad to be a member of a species that is slowly destroying her way of life.  Mostly, I am filled with self-loathing that I am too attached to my way of life to sacrifice for hers.  

I imagine she views that field in much the same way I view this house.  Neither spot is where we would have liked to have ended up, but each has its merits.  She is stuck in that field because humanity loves to spread.  I am stuck in this house because Bee loves that field.

Stupid field.  Offering temporary sanctuary, but not peace.  Calling her and me with its siren song of freedom in this tamed world.  Chaining us to it; both a promise and a curse.