I wondered, the other day, why something as simple as a black squirrel, scampering across the road, fascinated me so deeply. For most, this would be a mediocre sighting and I began to wonder and ponder why I was so inspired and intrigued by the wild and even more so—the animals and creatures who inhabit it.
My mom and dad were divorced when I was very young, but I feel lucky as they both introduced aspects of life to my sister and me that we may not have experienced in a more traditional household. They both worked to show us how and why to love the outdoors and for that, I’ll forever be grateful. We would have different adventures with both separately but there was always a common theme: being outside.
Among other things, my dad taught me how to be a horrible fisherwoman. This turned into a valuable lesson, however, because we always had an amazing adventure whether we caught fish or not and I’ve carried that concept with me into my adulthood. My mom showed me how to get to some amazing places in the world with my own two feet, like hiking deep into the high country of the Rocky Mountains.
I remember very little from my childhood but one instance is so clear and vivid I can almost feel the sweat bead up on my forehead like it did that day. Until I was 10 and my sister 12, we lived with my mom—splitting time with my dad—in suburban Denver. One hot summer day, my mom loaded us up in the car and we headed towards Waterton Canyon for a bike ride.
Waterton Canyon felt like a world away from our home in Lakewood but we really weren’t far at all. It’s so interesting to me to see the perception of distance—and even time—change from when I was a kid to now.
I’m sure my sister and I were bickering and my mom working hard to have us enjoy the beauty of just being able to be outside. The sun was scorching hot which undoubtedly did not help with our attitudes. There’s really not much I remember about this particular day, other than it was hot, sunny, and seemingly far from home until we came around a bend in the road.
There stood, in the middle of the road, a Native American man and a wildly wild bighorn sheep. We couldn’t believe the sight. It was as if the sheep knew the man—a connection between two beings so magical and unbelievable. Our existence in the moment didn’t change their connection. I felt shy. Not around the man, but the sheep.
The man told us not to worry and showed us not how to be nervous or afraid, but vulnerable. The sheep wouldn’t hurt us, he assured and we proceeded to live in the opportune moment.
It was the first time I had really felt the soul of a wild animal, a connection so deeply profound and one that I would never forget. It was at that instance, that I fell for the wild.
