The bee

I have always considered myself a person inclined towards nature. Now, I don't know how much a girl who grew up in the suburbs of LA (and was in double digits before she realized there were places in the world where people didn't have house next to house next to house outside of the ocean) could ever really be a nature person. Then again, I did grow up with my nose constantly stuck in books (and if there is anything my parents did right, it was supplying us with vast numbers of books) from Tell Me Why to National Geographic. I bemoaned (loudly) the loss of our enormous trees that my Mother had removed to keep the wildlife from having a place to hide in our yard. I was the first one to stick my nose in my Mother's rosebushes and discover that a spider would climb on me. I wasn't the first one to cry for hours because I didn't get to see the mouse that was killed in the mousetrap, but you now understand the kind of house I grew up in.

I remember well being about eight-years-old when a lizard was sunbathing in the crack of our window and mother picked him up thinking he was a toy (that was the other thing we had in excess). My Father came rushing in to be her hero and every kid in the house was at his side to, uh, er, help him catch it. Eventually, despite our best efforts to aid him, he managed to catch it and we were all given the opportunity to see what he had in the box. He was, in short, beautiful. Granted I'm sure my reaction was less vocal at that age. I think that this was the inspiration I needed for my later in life adventures. My Mother was against wildlife living within the confines of her house but wanted us to know all about what we were missing.

The first time we went up to the Sierra Nevadas I was in awe of the beauty surrounding me and the next time we went up we took our Golden Retriever and I took him on long lazy walks through the trees and backways. It, by far, is my favorite place in the world and if I miss nothing else about California, I miss the mountains. This inspired my frequent use of walking whenever I was stressed, a habit I keep to today. There is nothing better than a long walk to put life in perspective. When I was a teenager I used to wake up at 5 in the morning to go on long walks with my dog. I still think this is the best part of the day because the day was perfect and no one had a chance to touch it yet... just me. No one had ruined it and no one had decided what it would be. The best way to start a day was to go walking and clear my head. The best mornings were when it rained and there was dew on everything; it was like the entire world had taken a bath and I was the first to see it clean.

The first year I went to college the best day of the school year was when a baby gecko (about the size of a quarter in length) hid in our room and I rescued him from my roommate who was going to kill him for touching her Dr. Pepper. I caught him (my first catch EVER!) and dragged him all over campus showing him to everyone who wanted to see him and watching the reactions of everyone who didn't. Ah, it was a good day- except for the minor detail that I was forever branded as "she who catches things." I admit there are worse ways of establishing popularity, and every time something got in that shouldn't be, I got a frantic phone call and got to play hooky from my homework to go rescue some damsel, but I found it entertaining to say the least, that I, Miss wouldn't know real nature if it smacked her in the face, was everyone's "go-to-girl."

I was even more the reckless heroine the next year when I caught a snake that some girls were playing with which turned out to be a pygmy rattlesnake. He was as lovely as the gecko and far more interesting because of his lack of appendages and his decided affection towards me, embracing me with his body wrapped around my wrist and forearm. I could tell, he really liked me. One of the freshmen wanted to hold him, and I let him and for some strange reason I was surprised when my beautiful snake opened his mouth and tried to bite him... with his fangs. It was at this point that I did a face-palm and started looking for my Biology major roommate to figure out what he was. She took one look at him, pulled out her book of local wildlife, diagnosed him the tragic fate of being a pygmy rattler (and a baby at that, which are more dangerous because they have not learned to control their poison), and called security. Security gave me the horrible news that he would have to be killed and promised to make it quick. I cried (and I rarely cried after my first six weeks of college) and promised my mother I would never play with a snake again without knowing what kind it was.

Now that I live in Texas where the roaches are big enough to carry your luggage I find I am a bit more hesitant to play with the bugs that I don't recognize, but I'm still the one who catches lizards and takes them outside so they'll survive. I ran out of the house with my camera to take a picture of a beautiful flying beatle with a notchy, horn head and long elegant legs. I still stop whatever I'm doing to watch the birds and squirrels outside on the fence. I even have a garden now complete with wild opposums who eat my berries (I named the mama oppossum Henry before I realized she was a girl).
In short, I am a nature girl and love all things outdoors. I go out of my way to keep things alive that Darwin's theory should've claimed long ago and I still cry whenever I see a wounded bird. I put out food for the feral cat and I will slow down every time there is a "warning, animals frequent this road" sign. Oh yes, I am a nature girl- so I want you to completely understand how I felt when I was stung by a bee yesterday (first time ever) and was happy that the little bugger died after he fell to the ground and my lawnmower ran over him. Oh yes, I am a nature girl.