Feathered Fury and Frightened Flight through the Forest
We were literally about to embark on our ride. The birds were fluttering their tiny wings like physics was just a suggestion, and those pesky squirrels were, once again, having a field day in our strawberries. (Seriously, do they pay rent?) Anyway, we shrugged it off and started moving. Then I saw the sky – a truly unique masterpiece. I suggested we look up, and that’s when Dad, bless his observant eyes, saw something else entirely.
“A bird! It’s holding a large snake!” he exclaimed, looking like he’d just won the lottery. Naturally, I followed him.
And there it was. “The Bird,” as he so eloquently put it, fluttering around with a substantial snake dangling from its beak. Dad, being the resident bird whisperer, immediately identified it as our red-shouldered hawk, the one who apparently pays property visits.
Oh, nature, you beautiful, brutal, and utterly baffling thing!
We did manage to squeeze in a respectable three miles on that ride, by the way. And yes, there was a second ride to Lake Devin in the evening.
The Frog We Saw (and the Flies That Almost Ate Us)
When we finally made it to Lake Devin, we spotted a fisherman doing his fisherman thing, probably contemplating the meaning of life or how to untangle his line. The local frog chorus was in full swing, providing the soundtrack. We spotted a lone tree in the distance, some electricity poles crackling and humming their electric tunes, and a rather sturdy metal bridge. We crossed said bridge, the poles buzzing like angry bees, and miraculously, made it to the start of the trail without a single tick! I mean, this is tick central, people! It was a minor miracle.
Then, the journey began.
I, with my eagle eyes (or maybe just good luck), spotted a small frog. It was practically a master of camouflage, blending in so perfectly I almost walked right past it. But I saw him! My proudest moment of the day, honestly.
Big Problem! (Or, How I Discovered My Inner Marathon Runner)
Just when things were feeling all peaceful and idyllic, disaster struck. We encountered flies. Not just any flies, mind you. Dad, ever the expert on all things creepy-crawly, informed me they might be “quarter-inch flies,” and then, with a dramatic pause, warned me they’d “hurt like a bee sting!”
As soon as those words left his mouth, a switch flipped. My inner Olympian woke up. I took off running. For half a mile. With only one, maybe two, two-second breaks. My dad, bless his heart, had no choice but to join me in this impromptu sprint, because, let’s face it, half a mile is a long way when you’re being hunted by tiny, stinging demons.
Nature, man. It really does change everything. Sometimes for the hilarious, sometimes for the terrifying, but always for the unforgettable.
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