On the free and the brave
“And if I was some small bird and if I had wings to fly
I would fly over the ocean where my own true love does lie
I would fly over the ocean and alight upon the plain
Where my bonny light horseman in the war, he was slain”- Anaïs Mitchell
It’s been raining all day, a late spring rain that pelts the yard hard for about twenty minutes, then stops suddenly, steam rising from the roof shingles and disappearing into a patch of clear blue sky. I’m standing at the window looking out at the bent-over catmint, dragging their bee-studded blooms along the tips of the wet grass. I’m standing here deciding.
“I’m going to go,” I say to my spouse Janyce who passes by me in the kitchen. “Will you have time to walk the girl?”
“Good,” she says. “You should go.”
“Google maps says if I leave right now I should just make it, if I take 495, even with traffic,” I say. “What time are you leaving?”
“I’m meeting them at 7:00,” she says.
We stand in the kitchen in a silent face off. I have my car keys in my hand and my backpack slung over one shoulder.
“She will be fine,” says Janyce. “I’ll take her on a walk now.”
Our dog is curled up on her bed against the wall of the kitchen. She is starting to pick up on the little cues that her people are leaving her alone for the night. I swear she is pouting, but Janyce swears she is not.
“She’s just acting like a dog”
“A scared, skittish dog,” I would say back to her, but I have since fled the scene, realizing that the clock is ticking and I needed to be on the highway five minutes ago.
Earlier in the day, I chanced a rare break in the downpour to take our dog out. We two happily exited the car in the lot at the entrance to the Franklin forest and started climbing up the rocky path that leads into the lush green coolness of the trails. Typically, on these walks, the dog sniffs and I listen intently, trying to identify the various strains of birdsong, or to figure out what might be rustling in the leaves.
Trigger Warning: The next image is a little bit gruesome if you are not a fan of snakes
We stopped in awe of what was happening in the leaves only steps away. The dog had backed way up and stood frozen in the path. I grabbed my cellphone to lean in closer and grab a shot. I’m not afraid of garter snakes (I’m not so sure about the dog) and I wish they would come back into my flower garden again this year and eat the slugs that proliferate after a heavy rain. But I haven’t seen them in awhile. This one, though, had only moments ago nabbed a giant toad and was pulling it back into the dark leaves to digest it over several days.
My car is now slowing to a complete halt on the highway. I’m about an hour into the drive to Portsmouth and so far the rain has held off. I pull the visor down and start applying mascara on my eyelashes in the visor mirror.
Bonny Light Horseman is a folk trio who has put a modern twist on English, Irish and American Appalachian folk songs some a few centuries old. Other than my nature discoveries, this band is my latest obsession. I bought tickets without hesitation when I heard they would be in my area (sort of) and figured I could get someone to join me. I almost had a date for the evening, too, but we cancelled due to the complexity of weather and commuting. Janyce doesn’t share my passion for this band, and I used up my “sea shanty card” with her during Covid lockdown, so now I’m on my own.
I turn on the radio to NPR when the traffic starts moving again. The war in Ukraine rages on, and the first of the Jan 6 insurrection hearings will be televised tonight. I shut it off and decide to drive in silence instead.
This band came out with their debut album in 2020. The song by the band’s same name has a haunting melody, incredible vocal harmonies, and lyrics from the point of view of a young woman blaming Napoleon for her lover’s death. I think about the cyclical nature of war and how these songs were written hundreds of years ago and yet Bonaparte could be Trump, could be Putin, could be any leader corrupted by power.
The traffic is slowed again to a stop. I glance over at my cellphone on the seat beside me. Janyce has texted. I see the photograph of the snake I had sent to her right above her text that reads, “Have fun tonight.”
I still feel a little bad for the toad. It was alive and probably could have managed without a leg. There was time for me to have broken it free. But the snake had a good grip on it, so I decided to let it be. Nature has its own rhythms and reasons that don’t require our human intervention. And let’s face it, we’ve got enough problems to consider all on our own.