Perfect Day

Nov. 21. A day off! Perfect temperature in the seventies. The Georgia trees tinted with reds, oranges and yellows. So P. and I drive to Oatland Island to hike through the woods. We've loved that place since P. was child. I used to take him there in the summers, partly to work off some of his unrelenting hyper-energy, but also because we both loved the way the animals were housed in natural settings, deep in the woods, in isolated sanctuaries set off by subtle fencing and boardwalks. Though hyperactive, P. could focus like a laser on random things that grabbed his attention, and he liked watching the bears pace. I remember standing for an hour by the wooden fence overlooking the bears' habitat as P. stared silently at two black bears slowly waddling back and forth, back and forth. He was also entranced with the wolves, the cougars and the bobcats. Once, when D. was visiting, the three of us hiked through Oatland. I took a photo of D.and P. walking ahead of me on boardwalk that goes over the wetlands. D. was about 20; P. about six. D.'s tall, manly shape and broad shoulders contrasted with P.'s little boy form following behind him. Today, 15 years later, P. walks ahead of me on the boardwalk, now a tall, manly shape himself, his four-day beard and a cap adding to his years. In the woods, as we hike along under the canopy of trees, it's blissfully quiet; the only sound is the soft wind and the crack of falling acorns hitting the branches and the ground. I love the whisper of the wind. At school all day, there are voices and noises plundering my ears non-stop. Here at Oatland, the silence is priceless, a balm to my fractured ears. We walk through the woods and climb the ramps to see the cougars, bobcats, foxes, wolves, and bears. We stop at the large pond with multi-colored trees reflected on its glass-like surface. This scene is so breathtaking that I use my cell phone to take a photo and send it to Liberto. At the aviary, we see the hawks, owls and eagles. The local newspaper recently featured a front-page story about a hawk at Oatland Island who had had surgery for his eye cataracts. Now his vision is fully restored. I wonder as I look in the aviary if the hawk sitting on the stand in front of me is this famous one. We walk through the barnyard. P. notices that the cow lying peacefully on the hay is not the same one from years ago. The mischievous goat, gnawing on straw, triggers memories of the goat we had on the homestead years ago. P. wants to hike back to the opposite end of the sanctuary to watch the cougars one more time. We stand for 20 minutes watching them stretch, groom, pace, and even pounce on each other like baby kittens. P. wonders what their names are. No names are posted, so as we leave, I stop at the front office and ask the names of the two cougars. The friendly woman doesn't know but radios someone on her walkie talkie. "Their names are Kalika and Commanche" she reports. P. is delighted to hear their names, and asks that I write them down as soon as we get to the car. As we drive away, P. says, "Let's come here again soon."