Stoic Prompt Week 15 (2024)
Can't I step back and test my impressions? What would I find if I did?
An old joke goes something like this: a fellow gets a flat tire in front of a gated insane asylum. As he stands on the curb pondering what he should do, a disheveled man puts his head between the bars of the fence and offers, "Your jack is under the spare in your trunk."
Sure enough, it was. The man removed the spare and sat both items on the grass, just away from the curb. The wild-eyed man further instructed from behind the fence, “Take the lug wrench and loosen the lugs before you jack up the car."
The man with the flat tire stopped what he was doing and turned to face and address the bedraggled man, who stared back at him through the fence, his hair all akimbo.
"Why am I listening to you? You're nuts."
"I may be crazy, but I'm not stupid." the inmate retorted.
This Stoic Prompt was a tough one to ponder trying to find an example where I failed to test an impression and things came up snake eyes; conversely, recalling an impression that I did test, and the final judgment changed my assessment. No ready example came to mind.
Then a Barred owl dropped one right in my lap.
Yesterday, on my daily constitutional walk down the Colchester Causeway Path, on the return leg, a small group of people, cell phone cameras to the ready, were photographing something up in trees. I stopped and saw that the gaggle’s collective attention was directed at a Barred Owl in the trees, at the same juncture where I have observed him a number of times. I shared what I knew about the bird since I have seen him any number of times in this exact copse of trees dating back to the late fall of 2023.
One of the women, a tall woman wearing yellow rain gear and riding a bicycle kitted out with front and rear saddle bags, offered that she had seen the same bird many times, too. Then she asked me if I had seen it carrying any prey in its talons, or mouth, to which I replied that I only ever observed the owl flying into the trees or perched on a branch. She asserted that she had seen this bird carrying its dinner many times, even once observing the owl go down into the nearby wetlands and take salamanders from the swamp.
That surprised me, but I did not test the impression until later.
One of the other people, a fellow in his fifties, challenged her by remarking that salamanders are typically found under logs and not in the water. She replied that there are water salamanders in Vermont. I got the sense that she had been holding court about nature with this group of people before I arrived on the scene. Still, I did not give it another thought.
But I did use this slightly tense exchange to excuse myself and continue my walk so I could look for the Osprey nesting on the left down the path, about 100 yards out in the middle of the wetlands. The tallest tree, one among a sparse distribution of thin and mostly branch-less, lodgepole-like pines, features an Osprey platform at its very top. For over a decade I have enjoyed seeing Osprey parents care for their chicks in the nest, from afar of course. That is, until last season.
During the early spring, every day on my walk, I pause and look through the scrub, a screen of leafless branches that obscure the tree’s view from the path. I never saw an Osprey. Not once last season. When the scrub sprouts leaves in late May, the platform is fully hidden from view. I assumed it had been abandoned. Osprey will use abandoned platforms, so I hoped for the best.
Yesterday, I was excited to see an Osprey in the nest. The woman on the bicycle who had been speaking with the group back up the trail, pulled up alongside me and stopped. I asked her if she was familiar with the Osprey family nesting out in the wetlands. She replied that she was. I told her that I was disappointed last year when the previous occupants had abandoned the nest, but I was very excited that it is occupied this season. She said, "No. You are wrong. I saw the Osprey in the nest every time I rode by last year."
Inside my head I screamed 'Bullshit.’
Then I flat out lied to her. "I walk this path every day, at different times of the day, and I never saw an Osprey!"
I don't know why I lied, but I did. The truth is evidence enough. I walked the path every other day in the summer of 2023. No reason to exaggerate. And I did look every time I passed this spot until the leaves fully obscured the view. Then I took a breath, a moment to consider this woman. And myself. Why did she torque me up enough to lie to her so quickly?
One: I have never seen her before. That, in and of itself, is unusual. I've been taking the same walk for over ten years. I've pretty much seen most of the repeat locals at one time or another.
Two: her comment about the owl and the salamander did not ring true, either. And if true, there is no way she could have seen the Owl in the swamp feeding on salamanders, because one would have to bushwhack with a machete to gain a view, the scrub along the path is that thick.
In that moment I tested my impression and changed my judgment. Albeit, after I allowed this woman to get under my skin, and I responded by clearly lying to her about the frequency that I walk on this path. Only recently have I made the walk daily, since December of 2023. In my consternation, I exposed my weakness of character.
I stopped myself from engaging with her any further and said, "Well. Good for you."
There was a long uncomfortable pause that followed. She mumbled something and started to peddle away. I told her to have a great day; and she moved down the path. She was certainly not stupid, but she could have been a little touched, as my grandmother might say.
