Readers may recall my Reluctant Soldier Boy series and the time I spent at Ft. Bliss, Texas. During the time I was waiting for court martial and prison time, I had the opportunity to hike in the Franklin Mountains, a small range extending from El Paso into New Mexico. This was not rock face climbing with ropes and equipment, but simply movement up to high points placing hand over foot, a nice workout in the desert sun, trying to avoid a variety of prickly, stinging cacti.
I also wanted not to encounter rattlesnakes. Some years before I had climbed in the same manner in Southern Arizona. At that time I had read in Arizona Highways Magazine that encounters with rattlers were very rare. Even so, being a guy from Indiana used to corn fields and midwestern woodlands, I was a bit spooked by the exotic desert and the rattlesnake mystique built up in my mind by western movies.
When I had to reach to grab a rock ledge in order to pull myself up I was always imagining being face-to-face with a rattler resting in the sun.
In my many times hiking the mountains I never encountered a snake. But one afternoon as I was working my way up (understand this wasn’t a cakewalk) I would sometimes get myself in situations where I was not sure how to make the next move. It was challenging both physically and mentally.
Okay, now I have spoken to the readers who see me as soft, so I will go on. I am working my way up and reach up for a ledge, find my footing, and hoist myself up for the next step. And as I peak over the ledge I am eye-to-eye with this beautiful creature with four kits, you can call them cubs, bathing in the warmth of the West Texas sun!
All of us are startled and what takes place in the rapid encounter is hard to explain. Of course, I start to really sweat, but I hold my position and Mother holds hers. The kits are small and hidden as the mother moves slightly, responding to the call of nature to protect her wee ones. For a moment’s time we share life on a ledge, on the edge. Fleeting, but real.
We look at each other. Her alert, beautiful eyes are saying, “I saw you coming. I know you. You are human. Are you afraid? Don’t be. I know you.” Silently, I share, “I am afraid, I’m human, we are fearful animals. I am captured by your beauty and grace.” We are eye-to-eye. I edge back from the ledge. I am still in the heat of the moment and in tears.
I wend my way down the mountain with a sense of having been face-to-face with another being. I see foxes rarely. They are quick, they are nocturnal, they are beautiful. Yes, they will eat your chickens. They have that reputation. I read that a fox may stop and stare for a few reasons. They are curious, they will assess a situation for a threat. Maybe that was what the mountain encounter was — an assessment of being.
One of the all-time great stories with a fox playing a key role is found in The Little Prince. I read the children’s book — really an adult book in the children’s stacks —last year for the first time. Reading a biography of the author and artist, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, pressed me to read it. Here is Fox wisdom:
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince
Thanks, Ken. As a paid subscriber you should be able to go to Golden Mean archived to read Reluctant Soldier Boy. Let me know what you think of it.
A most engaging account of one more reason to consider that All may be alright with the World.
Treading softly and with eyes sharply tuned is the pay to explore. Now I ache for equally engaging account of court martials and prisons. graciously received by Ken