Childhood Memory

The air was fresh and clean. The forest was beautiful – different shades of red, orange and yellow on the ground, as well as in the trees. Fall in the northeast is spectacular. Leaves transform the woods into an enchanted mosaic of colours. Even as they fall, they retain their vivid pigments and create a thick carpet that crunches under every footstep. My uncle and I had been walking for a couple of hours, our eyes and ears carefully tuned to the sounds of Nature, hoping to perhaps see deer or partridge. My uncle decided to stop, and, as we sat on a log, he whispered to me that animals are always there. We might not see them, but they see us. Curiosity is something that animals also possess. If you stay still for a moment without making a noise, you reverse the dynamic and become the pursued one. The animals were tracking our movements, vigilant as to our whereabouts, wondering why we stopped and were now closing in.

Shortly after he spoke, two partridges peeked from behind a tree, looking at us. Overcoming their curiosity, they slowly walked out from their previously perfectly camouflaged spot, their heads moving up and down, right to left, trying to size us up and wondering who we were. I was amazed and fascinated. I was still a little boy.

I don’t know why I can remember this story as if it happened yesterday, this simple walk in the forest 25 years ago. But I do, and I have applied the lesson learned that day every time I am in Nature, whether scuba diving, mountain biking or simply walking. Stop and they will come to you.