It is a joyous thing to know that there are caring strangers out there. While I do not rely on the kindness of strangers, I certainly appreciate it when it happens. I was thinking about this as I pulled into the river valley by the Carseland weir.
The day had started cool and a little breezy. At McKinnon Flats, my first stop, the light was soft and the sound of the Bow River burbling along was soothing. Birds were singing, calling out their morning songs and reinforcing their territories. The app on my phone identified a dozen different species just by their calls, but all I managed to see were a bunch of starlings and a single yellow warbler that sat still for about four seconds. It was too dark among the trees to see much at all.
A couple of gulls flew by and a single pelican, but though the avian concert was lovely, I wanted pictures. So I headed back up among the grain fields and rolled toward Carseland hoping for better luck. The sun popped out and the day warmed quickly as I rolled east. Back at McKinnon, the temperature had been a pleasant 12 C, but it had risen to 20 C as I hit the hill that led down to the Carseland weir. Not exactly blazing heat, but as I rolled slowly through the riverine forest scanning the branches for any birds, I began to perspire a bit.
I could feel trickles running down my ribs as I raised the lens to shoot a tiny wren that was hollering with its oversized voice from a branch beside the truck. And as I looked up at a tree swallow that was just above me, I could feel dampness on the back of my neck as well. It was no big deal; it happens to me even in the winter, especially when I forget to shut off the truck's heater. I just unzip my jacket or crack another window. A lot of times I reach back to lift the hair from my neck so the cooler air can get at it. Which I did now. Thing is, there was no hair.
I could not do much with my long, luxuriously ringleted locks while I was in the hospital. With IV tubes running into my arms and my friend Potato draining my liver abscess, I was pretty much stuck to my bed. No shower, no real way to keep clean other than a damp towel. OK for the most part, but my hair suffered badly. After a couple days it was severely bunched up and matted, and you would never know that it came down past my shoulder blades when it was wet. It was uncomfortable to sleep on, the mats pressing into my scalp and neck. So I asked Filmon, the nursing assistant, to cut it off. He did the best he could. It was not pretty, but it was manageable, at least.
Once I was out and back on my own, I decided to go for a proper haircut. And it was while I was sitting in the chair with scissors snicking around my ears that a lady just leaving the shop tapped me on the shoulder. She had overheard me talking to the stylist about my recent travails and why my hair was so crazy, so she decided, as she said, that I deserved a break. And she paid for my haircut. No, she insisted, despite my protests, it was her treat, and before I could protest further, she was out the door and gone. I was overwhelmed. And a little misty. The stylist finished up and showed me the look in the mirror. I definitely did not look like the old me, but I liked it. Buoyed by the kindness of that stranger, I nearly floated back to the truck.
And now, sweating as I looked for birds and reaching back for hair that was no longer there, the emotions of that moment all came back. Gotta admit, the heron on the treetop across the river got a little blurry for a few seconds.
I continued on looking for birds and whatever else I could find along the river. There were pelicans and cormorants there, mostly on the rocks below the weir. One cormorant was determined that it needed to be perched on a rock that was already occupied by a pelican and proceeded, much to my surprise, to chase it off and take it over. Pushy!
In the riverine forest there were chokecherries still coming into bloom and plenty of bees around them. The saskatoons were pretty much done, here at least, but the buffalo beans were still going strong. The red seed pods on the Manitoba maples caught the light and glowed against a background of new green. Butterflies lit on the dandelion blossoms.
Across the river in Wyndham-Carseland Park, the rabbits were enjoying them, too. One little cottontail was munching away on them right beside the road. Had to be one of this year's babies, given its diminutive size, and it was slurping up the dandelions like spaghetti. It was about as cute as a bunny can get, but it had a lot of ticks on it. Nasty things.
The little gophers out in the grass were enjoying the dandelions, too. But while the cottontail was eating the fresh ones, the baby gophers were after the ones that had gone to seed. They sat upright with the flowers in their paws, nibbling away at the seeds like they were gnawing on cobs of corn. And if they were not eating, they were wrestling. Entertaining little things.
There were plenty of birds there, too. Driving through the campground area I saw them everywhere. Wrens were especially common, hollering their little lungs out. One perched so close to the truck that I had to back up to get it in focus. Its mate guarded the nesting hole in a poplar close by. There were plenty of goldfinches and yellow warblers, too, and I caught a fleeting glimpse of a gorgeous orange and black oriole. Always a treat to see those guys dressed up in their bright colours.
It was not quite noon yet, so I decided to backtrack toward McKinnon to see if there might be more birds visible in the midday sun. But on the way, I dropped down to Legacy Island boat launch. It is a great place to see goldfinches and a variety of swallows hunting for bugs along the river. Coming down the steep hill, though, I could hear a rhythmic hiss coming from the back of the truck. Something stuck in the brakes, maybe. No, it was the air blasting out a hole in the tire. Lovely.
I had to do some digging to find the jack, and when I did, I discovered that the designated jacking point on the truck was bent, so I could not get the jack to bite. Managed to get the lug nuts loosened and the spare ready to go, but I could not get the jack to work. But then along came a couple of strangers. Paula and Jeremy were headed to the river for a float fishing trip, and they were shuttling vehicles between there and Johnson's Island downstream. Without any hesitation, though, they stopped to ask if I needed help. I asked Paula if she might have a block of wood in her truck to wedge the jack, and lo and behold, she did. Jeremy got down in the dirt with me, found a place where the jack could bite, and finally got the truck off the ground. That done, Jeremy took over the heavy work, and the tire was changed. I literally could not have gotten it done without them, and I am eternally grateful for their help. Guys, I hope you annoyed many, many fish on your float!
Pretty hard to miss the colours on an oriole along the Bow River at Wyndham-Carseland Park near Carseland. There were two pheasants fighting not far from the truck and lots of birds flitting around, but that was enough of this spot. In fact, that was enough for the day. Heading back up the hill, I rolled on toward the city.
And as I did, I thought about the kindness of strangers, about the unnamed woman who paid for my haircut and about Paula and Jeremy who stopped, unbidden, to help me with my flat tire. They had no connection to me, they had never met me before. They had no reason to care about me at all. They were just good people. No, I would never actually rely on the kindness of strangers. But it fills me with joy to know that there are caring strangers out there.
