Out and Back

Out

An ant caught my attention on a recent morning walk. It was carrying a fluffy white object, about half its body’s size. I followed it with my eyes and soon saw other ants carrying the same fluffy white stuff, all heading toward the dirt area with an entry/exit hole signaling their nest. Taking a wider view, I could see the ants were coming from a nearby creosote, carrying the seeds of the white balls, like miniature lanterns, that develop from the creosote’s yellow flowers. At one point, my ant’s seed got caught on a grouping of other seeds. It pushed and twisted, kept pushing, like a linebacker going against blocking pads, determined to free itself and its load. Finally it did — I was glad. 

Now amid the turmoil of moving legs, bodies, and antennae, I tracked my ant until it made it to the nest hole, dropping into the dark. I wished I could still follow it, within this otherly world; eventually, I felt sure, it would re-emerge on another foraging round. Meanwhile, I stepped my way back to the trail and down into a small canyon. I spotted some petroglyphs midway up the cliff. One stood out — a humanoid figure with an appendage coming out of one side of its head like flames; what a perfect image. It was 9am, 85 degrees, and sunny except for the shaded cliff with the person on fire. 

For awhile I followed a sneaky yellow-breasted chat, making its exotic piercing whistles and jee-jee-jee-jee calls. Just as I would get close enough for a possible view, the winged one would go silent, its sounds resurfacing 20 yards down the trail. After being tantalized in this way several times, I turned around. 

and 

A favorite type of hike is the loop, spanning greater variation in scenery for the hiker, and holding the mystery of how it all will tie back together — a natural, unfolding plot. But there is something to be said for the “out and back,” a more intimate opportunity to experience a specific place.  

Back

The return walk was into the sun — I lost the self-awareness of my moving shadow, and the natural history of my senses was completely re-arranged by the heat and light. My mind became busier, thinking about the to-do aspect of the remainder of the day. Funny how this change occurred right after I turned around, like a horse getting a whiff of the barn.

In our daily lives, we usually feel pressured to move ahead. We have to hurry. We seldom ask ourselves where it is that we must hurry to. 

— Thich Nhat Hanh

I looked for the ant nest, this time on the left instead of right. At first I couldn’t locate it, given the reverse perspective. I passed by, then turned around, trying to replicate my approach during the “out” part of the hike. Finally I found it — but everything was different. No movement, not an ant to be seen. Only a collection of creosote seed fluff and the hole to the nest appearing closed off. My ant was somewhere in there, the colony shuttered from the heat and light. It was two hours after my first visit, and 95 degrees. 

This was two hikes in one.