Woodland Animals vs Pavement

To: the Woodland Animals

them

The joy-rides in the country are lacking joy these days. The city or even suburbs have what I miss and that is a ginormous lack of road-kill. Here in the boonies, it's a whole new world, but not the kind Aladdin and Jasmine were singing about. 

My view? Not so good.

the mirrors are taped down, oh yeah. 

I moved back to Virginia in September, driving across country in my coveted 1990, color rust, Mitsubishi Montero. My drivers and passengers mirror sway in the wind, my shocks are blown out so much that whenever I go over any bumps people literally take cover and scream out, “Oh my (fill in with your preferred name for a higher power)” to the explosion that occurs from  cordial exchange between my wheels, the shocks, and the cement.  Along with the interesting drive across country with my Mom and my puppy beagle, the arrival was nothing less than blissful. I have vowed to never road-trip again. Don’t worry, I know I’m kidding myself, but my resolve is still strong.

 I have loved the scenic view of the Blue-ridge Mountains and greenery transforming into reds, yellows, oranges, and now browns. I have admired the change of seasons as I take my safari rides north and south on route 29, until, the truth behind living in such an animal enriched place slowly started to reveal itself.

Yes, I would answer “yes” to being an avid animal lover. As a five-year-old, rescuing earthworms that got washed out of their holes in the ground out onto the sidewalk was my only ever-expected activity after a rainstorm. Pick-up, squish between fingers, hello grass—the responsibility of a five-year-old; those were the days. However, picking up slimy earthworms after the storm all occurred in the pleasant streets of northern Virginia—you know the city? Out here, in the country, it’s a different ball game.

Earth-worm salvaging is nothin' to 'em country folk. Out here, saving animals isn't exactly on the top of the list for 'em adults as it was mine as a child, and I must admit, I still enjoy saving things. Hunting, shooting, skinning and eating--well, that is expected out here. I am no country girl, even if I tried. My record of being southern occurred 7 years ago when I visited the CMT (Country Music Television) channel during the span of a month where I participated in knowing the top 20 countdown for the year of 2005. I still like 2 songs from that experience: Would you Go with Me, by Josh Turner and The World, by Brad Paisley. That’s as deep as I get with my country side.

for your enjoyment

Maybe I’m overly sensitive. Maybe I heart animals more than I thought. Maybe wanting to save the woodland animals is on everyone’s to-do list. Maybe it’s not. All I know is that I have seen one too many carcasses in the span of really a month, my first month here. If I must be frank, I have cried over it. I embrace the wuss within me. 

As I was driving home one dark and late evening after getting off my shift, my safari car headlights lit up only just enough ahead of me as needed. By the skin of my nose I noticed this dark blob in front of me and I mustered up the coherence to try to move away from this dark an unidentified grounded object. For all the trouble I was putting myself through, it would probably be a t-shirt that escaped from the back of a passing truck. Then, I saw it. The light revealed the sad scene. On his side and facing toward me, and all the oncoming parties behind me, layed a raccoon—living and breathing. Adorning his left arm and shoulder, he was seemingly glued,  facing up and covered in blood, there placed by a collision that occurred only seconds before we had our encounter. He was breathing. He was in one piece. He was unable to move. What a fearful situation.

Always,  my heart breaks over seeing beautiful deer or foxes in frozen poses pulled on the “other side” of the line as I made my way to and fro location x and destination y. Never had I been eye-to-eye with a living animal in such a dire situation as with Mr. Raccoon.  If I had it my way, I would have stopped my car and rescued the chap, lime disease and all. I swerved. My wheels didn't add any damage but all I could think about as I covered my mouth and my eyes filled with tears was that the cars behind me might not swerve, they might not go around, they might not care and then... that would be it. Life over.

I've been pondering this since my road-trip across country. Even bugs that would disappear in an instant from a solid to a liquid due to the collision with my windshield had to serve some purpose as I washed them away, one wipe at a time.  I have been thinking how instantaneous death is and how anticlimactic these animals' and insects' deaths have been. Then, I compared that type of end to a life with people. People fall of buildings and become just like the animals I see daily. Cars hit cars and people and that is a quick exit from this world. That is not my preferred way to die. The ideal way out would be saving someone else, dying and fighting for your country, being on a meaningful and integrity-filled errand…not…trying to cross the road and getting slammed on the way…or…almost making it and just having to lay there thinking of how close you were before it would all be over. 

I find that people pass by these dead or dying woodland animals and brush them off as a shame or…that there are too many of them so good riddance to bad rubbish and it’s to “decrease the surplus population,” you know, something Scrooge would say…but, I just can’t do that. It seems so demeaning and to me gives those creatures absolutely zero worth. How are they less than I in their chance to live? Bambi had a Mom (and Dad), and don’t we know what happened to her. There has to be some type of honor from their departure.

I have to say, I have utmost respect for the “road kill” I see. I don’t see it as I used to. I would think, “Oh, how sad!” and in my mind wonder why on God’s beautiful green earth, why and how loud noises and trucks or cars couldn't scare them off from taking on the task of crossing the road. It makes them sound stupid, and yes, their brains are small, but their instincts are incredible. They are not stupid, they are brave and here is why.

They are smarter than most of us, the human population. Sound contradictory? It isn't. 

How many people stay in the conformity of their own comfort zone? How many people dare not even attempt to follow their dreams ? How many opportunities are lost from not trying? The chances of “getting to the other side” or actually having it come to light are sometimes too threatening or too scary to handle. How is that smart? Here is the question I take away from “them”—am I not even daring to take a step toward that greener pasture because I may get hit? It could be an experience to change all experiences. Maybe there was something that animal was trying to reach…food, babies, a better life…use your imagination here. I think they may have way more courage and guts ( and I’ve seen it) than the rest of the forest and the rest of us. So, instead of feeling sad for them like I did, and forget the whole “it’s inevitable” attitude, I say, see it from a different angle. Nature is full of lessons.  I would rather die young trying to reach a dream than grow old wishing I had taken that potentially deathly leap onto the road to get to the other side. perhaps, to theirs and our own Promised Land. 

HOW?! The other side. 

 To the woodland animals.