This past week I led a birds-and-wildflowers expedition to the glorious ‘Driftless Area’ of southeast Minnesota. It was chilly. And for the first day or two, rainy. With a daily wind out of the north that kept many of the migrating birds bundled up to the south and east. It didn’t matter. Because of the fact that we had a fine group of 20 human beings, intent on learning and seeing and hearing and enjoying, it did not matter. And we were able to leave ‘the news’ behind for a few days.

And that’s OK. In fact, it’s essential every now and then. But within an experience-centered group like that, sometimes you make your own news. Just within the group itself, as we pay attention to and care for one another. The beautiful Barred Owl in this photo was ‘called in’ by my great friend Larry Dolphin, assistant leader on this trip. Larry has a good number of outdoor skills, but one of the main ones is the calling of Barred Owls. Broad daylight. I can do it myself, but they often don’t believe me when I do. They don’t answer, don’t come by for a visit. Insincere, I guess. Or something slightly off in tonal inflection. But Larry is a master. And I had been bragging him up for a couple of days. Describing just how he would do it. And where he would do it. (We have a favorite spot in deep timber.) And that there was no doubt he would be–and therefore we all would be–successful. In other words, ratcheting up the pressure.

We got to our mature, deep timber woods. We got to the right spot. I called on Larry. He called on the Barred Owls. And nothing happened. He called some more: ‘Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you all?’ With some little monkey-type sounds thrown in, as the owls sometimes do. More nothing. Larry tried again. And again. And after about 5 minutes this fine fellow swooped in. Hid behind some leaves for awhile, then hopped out on an open branch so everyone could see. It was a great moment. And everybody was suitably impressed with the owl-caller. And we had our news-of-the-day.

Within an hour, the news had changed. One of our group had awakened not feeling particularly well. We hoped a quiet day, slow walking, taking things easy would eliminate the problem of slight dizziness and just feeling punky. We had a wonderful retired doctor in our group, Dr. Richard (1st name) who monitored the patient, checking pulse and blood pressure and symptoms. I was concerned and kept close tabs. An hour after our visit with the owl, Dr. Richard told me we shouldn’t mess around any more. A slow heart rate was gradually growing a bit slower and symptoms were not improving. He named the likely malady and said that it was not immediately life-threatening, but that a pacemaker was probably going to be required.

Within 15 minutes we got our friend to the Mayo Clinic satellite in Red Wing. They took over quickly and efficiently. Everything was stabilized, our concern abated. Dr. Richard’s diagnosis was confirmed. That evening, an ambulance ride to the main Mayo clinic in Rochester occurred, and the next day the pacemaker was successfully installed. We kept tabs with texts and phone calls. And finished our trip. The patient is now doing just fine.

So, Life happened. And worry and empathy and planning and extemporizing and adjusting and hoping and celebrating. Just like those kinds of things happen every day to all kinds of folks in all kinds of places. And we breathe and we laugh and we mourn and we live our lives. Lives that are more important and more authentic than the hollow and malevolent forms of existence that go on in ‘high places,’ where big plans are made in order to massage someone’s insecurities and fluff their fragile egos. They do much damage, and between the White House and the Cabinet and the Congress one doubts if there is a single Dr. Richard among the whole lot of them who could simply do something right. And something good. And something useful. With no thought to themselves, but just the well-being of others.

But we got away from all that for a few days. And as I say, that is OK. And essential. As we live our lives, and enjoy the company of one another and the blue sky and the green trees and the other creatures that share this glorious planet with us.

And that is The News from the deep woods.

(This is my latest Substack post. You can subscribe/support me there at Notes From The Campfire@douglaswoodauthor. LINK TO SUBSTACK Thanks!)