the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things. ~ Mary Oliver (Wild Geese)

If someone had told me before I moved here two years ago that I’d be taking a lot of my old life with me, I’d never have believed them. For who would think for one second that many of the wonders I’d seen and heard during my years in the woods of Lyman would be replicated here, literally just a stone’s throw from downtown Saco?

But they have and in ways I’d never have dreamed possible had I not seen it with my own eyes and heard it with my own ears. And now, approaching the start of my third winter here, I’ve tallied quite the list of sightings as well as collected quite the audio memory library of sounds generally experienced only in the deepest and wildest reaches. And like any other wild place I’ve lived or spent time in, each season here has provided me with sights and sounds that have often taken my breath away.

This morning, for instance, I awakened once again just before dawn, as I often do. Instead of getting right up, though, I lay there waiting for the first audible music of another day beginning, at least for the wild things that call the woods behind this place home. First, the crows started their morning chatter, assuming, if you will, the role of a natural alarm clock. Soon after they hit their first notes of the day, the ravens chimed in with their deeper and raspier calls. While crows aren’t shy about begging for food, ravens are much more clandestine and aloof, preferring the deeper woods to the open spaces, from which their throatier more imposing voices echo as the sun rises past the trees above which they soar, their magnificent wing spans casting broad shadows.

This, in turn, sends the wild turkeys gliding down from their nocturnal piney perches. Once on the ground, the distinctive gobbling begins, as the females usher their young out across the grounds in search of breakfast. I’ve observed that there is a procedure among those large birds that the women and children eat first. Once they’re done, the males appear, until finally, the entire flock moves off back into the woods where they can be seen roosting and preening on fallen logs.

Once this act has played itself out, the smaller birds take over, adding their shriller chirpier voices to the mix. And some mornings, it’s a veritable cacophony out there with them all trying to outdo each other.

While the days in this tree-rimmed place belong to the feathered creatures, the dying light brings the four-legged more timid foragers out from the dark woods. I’ve lost count of the nights I’ve looked out my bedroom window before going to bed and seen a raccoon or a fox out there sniffing the ground in search of something the birds might have missed earlier. And of course, no spring season begins or fall season ends without the strong pungent odor of a skunk seeping into my room some nights.

On one recent morning, I was awakened to another familiar sound, that of a flock of Canada geese passing overhead. Sure enough, I ran to the door just in time to see a very large number of them in an almost perfect V-formation bound in a southeasterly direction across a lightening sky.

Several months ago, a pair of Mallard ducks took up residence in a large puddle that had formed after heavy spring rains. Their usual habitat, a water hole on the south edge of this property, had grown too dense with fallen logs and thick lower growth, so they moved out to where I was able to see them every single day, marching to and from their puddle into the woods and then back out again.

Later, a pair of hawks took up residence again the woods out back, coming out to hunt or to frolic with the crows. Identifying certain species of raptors can be tricky, but I’m quite sure these were Cooper’s hawks, though I always welcome correction by those who are more knowledgeable about such things than I am. I was, however, positive in my identification when a Pileated woodpecker landed not long ago at the base of a pine tree not far from my door. There is never any mistaking this large showy bird for any other with its large black and white body, long sharp beak, and prominent red crest.

And if “all of the above” weren’t enough, it takes no more than a short drive to the Saco River just downstream from the River Walk bridge to see and hear even more wonders, not the least of which are the cormorants that perch on the rocks just below the falls on even the stormiest of days.

I’ve come to believe that embracing nature has less to do with place or good fortune but more so with being aware and cognizant of one’s surroundings. Many formerly wild creatures have adapted to the changes in their habitats, and have taken nature’s lead in always being resilient and ready for anything humans throw their way.

I’ve lived in some pretty marvelous places where her beauties were literally right outside my door and all around me, places I hated to leave, thinking each time, this is it, this is goodbye to all the things I love. Silly me. For nature, glorious stalker, has followed me here, or so it appears. But not to worry, I won’t be pressing charges anytime soon.