Hiking the Little Wild Places Reminds Me to Prioritize All I Love
A Cooper’s hawk watches over a warm spring slough, Idaho. By Kris Cochran
I'm always amazed when the universe puts up a trail marker pointing the way out of my wrong thinking.
I've been debating buying a new, long lens for my camera. It's what the pros call "fast glass." Translation—I could capture the nose hair on a deer at sunset.
A deer family at the slough for evening drinks, Idaho. By Kris Cochran
This past week, I planned my budget for the year ahead and put the faster lens in my online shopping cart.
But, I couldn't click "Purchase."
I've spent almost two years learning to be a widow. The path ahead has taken me solo hiking, photographing nature, and writing about it. I’d been trying to convince myself I deserved a reward for finally getting on with life.
Yet something about the purchase didn't sit quite right with me.
For two days, the seller auto emailed me, "Have you forgotten something in your cart?"
What I almost forgot
On the third day, I remembered what I had forgotten.
A little wild place called the Texas Slough.
Steam rising from the Texas Slough at sunset, Idaho. By Kris Cochran
The Texas Slough is a backchannel of the Henry's Fork of the Snake River here in the Idaho valley I call home. A hot spring feeds the 13-mile loop of water. While the river in Madison County often freezes over in winter, the warm slough remains open, providing critical wintering ground for wildlife.
Most of the Texas Slough is inaccessible since it winds through private land. But for a couple of miles, the channel runs along a country road. It’s one of my favorite sunset hikes on an ordinary winter afternoon. With hawks staring down at me from the old-growth cottonwoods and steam rising from the channel, it’s as though I’m walking back in time when our elders lived in harmony with this land.
Developments leave wildlife homeless
Swans, herons, hawks, deer, and more share this little wild place. The property owners of a large parcel along both sides of the slough have been good stewards of the land. They have resisted the financial reward of plotting lots for lucrative development. They even talked the power company into burying utility lines to prevent the swans from flying into the deadly cables.
A pair of swans fly safely along the Texas Slough, Idaho. By Kris Cochran
The waterways through our river valley have been used for over a century to irrigate high desert sagebrush into high yield farmland. Sadly, as family farms become too costly to maintain and large numbers of people move to Idaho, most of our riverfront is being sold for development.
If only the developers left a few acres untouched, the wildlife in these critical migration corridors wouldn't become homeless.
Save a little for tomorrow
I put off finishing my budget and spent a couple of afternoons hiking along the Texas slough. When I loaded my images on the computer to sort and edit, I had to laugh. In one of the images, a heron stood in the slough. When I took the photo, I hadn't seen him.
My old lens did.
A heron fishes the open water on the Texas Slough, Idaho. By Kris Cochran
I didn't get a close-up of the heron. Knowing he’s still fishing these waters is all the reward I need.
With thanks to the universe for direction, I emptied my shopping cart.
If I could afford to buy and protect a parcel of waterfront property like the owners along the Texas Slough, I would.
I don't have that kind of money, but I have enough to be grateful for the camera gear I already have and budget a little help for tomorrow.
A cirrus cloud dances in the sunset from the view of protected land, Idaho. By Kris Cochran
Instead of buying the lens, I donated to one of the many organizations preserving Idaho's land and waterways. I made the pledge in my husband's memory. He was the one who showed me all the little wild places we need to protect for the ducks, swans, herons, hawks, deer, and all the life he hoped would be at home in Idaho long after we’re both gone.
Thanks for walking with me,
Kris
