All spring I’ve been aware of that feeling that things are happening before I’m fully ready for them. Maybe that’s just the way it’s always been, or it’s going to be from here on out. Hard to say.  

It’s been a trying month so far. Mostly cold and wet weather. Lots of challenges. But the growth train is full speed, dead ahead, and from fireweed shoots to lupine to deer heart to sedges, we’re all greened up and then some. 

Cedar had another bear encounter… a quick chase of a young (maybe 3 year-old) black bear. We surprised one another at close range and luckily it was the flight (vs. fight) type because it had made its decision what to do long before my mind produced the word “bear.” It darted to a stump about 50 feet away where it sat and we kind of mimicked one another nearsightedly staring for a few high-pulse-rate seconds. Honestly, he seemed like a pretty good guy. He poured himself down the stump and took a few tentative steps towards us, with Cedar leaning into my leg to watch. Then I think we bored him. Whew.

Cedar and I debriefed a bit, and I’m pretty sure she knows the word “bear” now, and that we’re on the same page that we listen to each other about their presence.

The thing about the onslaught of late spring— June— is that it’s sort of like the moment you’ve chosen to ride a wave that’s a little too big. You’re in, come what comes, so it’s a good time to stay alert and hope you’re going to take in just enough of it to make it unscathed. A foolish hope, but one that rises and combs, set after irresistible set. 

Thinking about those tough Frost lines from “Reluctance,” suggesting that it’s a “treason” to “bow and accept the end of a love or a season,” I’ll try to keep my head up, and hit the trail, one dog walk at a time towards summer.

“June Too Soon” is from the mnemonic device for sailing in hurricane season. At least we don’t have to worry about that. And at least I think I remembered how to spell mnemonic.