Wilderness

A few days ago, I was standing at my kitchen window, watching the sun rise while I waited for the coffee to brew.

A large doe was ambling back and forth on the edge of the lawn. I couldn’t figure out what she was doing; she’d graze on the fresh grass for a couple moments, then bounce into the air and sniff something a few feet away. Maybe she was searching for more succulent grazing, maybe she was just enjoying the morning. I am no expert on deer psychology.

Over her shoulder, I saw eight pelicans gliding across the water of Olson Lake. The sun was behind them, so they appeared black instead of their usual glistening white. They were doing that pelican thing, flying single file and so low to the water that you expected their wings to splash water on the downstroke.

I wandered over to a west facing window and watched two rabbits scampering around. I used to be pretty hard on the rabbit population, but now the fruit trees are fenced off and the garden is mainly raised beds, so I’m feeling a little more of a live and let live vibe.

Other than the light over the stove, the house was dark and quiet. The cat was outside, the little dog was still asleep, and no other humans were stirring. It was one of those times that would have been great to share, but not quite great enough to justify dragging someone out of bed.

The house smells great because yesterday Number 5 brought in a bouquet of plum blossoms, and this morning when I went to do chicken chores, I noticed the crabapple trees were budding.

Later in the day the minnow trap guy stopped by to give me a check and complain that he couldn’t hire any help. I’m not surprised, because it seems like a challenging job. You’re outside all day in every kind of weather, wearing rubber waders and hauling heavy minnow traps around. His mom has cancer, his dad had a stroke, and his little dog is getting older. It was a pretty in-depth conversation considering I only see him once a year, and his name often slips my mind. Before that my longest conversation with someone outside my immediate family was two weeks ago when a neighbor stopped by for a few minutes to pick up some books I was donating to a worthy cause. And that was a banner week...usually my longest conversations are with the clerk at the gas station while I’m entering my PIN.

It sometimes makes me smile. Henry David Thoreau is famous because he retreated from modern life to a cabin on Walden Pond in order to think great thoughts. Except, his cabin was only a mile from town, his mom still did his laundry, and when he walked to town for lunch he traveled on the railroad right of way on the edge of his property. By his standards I live in a howling wilderness, especially since when I’m in my office, I’m out of reach of the internet unless I hold my phone right up to the window.

Even though I have a deadline, I’m having trouble finishing this, because for the last twenty minutes there has been a young otter frolicking twenty feet away at the edge of the water. Otters are relatively new to our area. I’ve seen them before, but usually just while driving, getting enough of a glimpse to make you say, “Wait, was that an otter?” This is the first time I’ve ever just sat and watched one, doing somersaults, munching on vegetation, basically just frolicking. I don’t have the lights on in my office so even though I’m sitting in plain view behind a picture window I’m basically invisible. It is, honestly, as much fun as I’ve had in quite a while.

We live in such an inconvenient place. Tomorrow I have to take my wife’s car in for warranty work, and the dealer is a two-hour drive away, so it will use up my entire day. The closest movie theatre is forty minutes, and eclectic dining options are a little spotty. You give up a lot, living in a place like this.

But you get something, too.

Copyright 2026 Brent Olson