Spruce Trap¹

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Warmth has not yet dried the soil. So moist, calf prints go down, dangerously down. There is a need to flatten this earth. Level the field. Protect the cows. Anger the insects. Disrupt the gopher who has diligently made another hole and whose cohort’s skull was cracked unceremoniously to preserve the nearby gated garden. Survival of the fittest. By whack or by will. Oxalis is taking over the path. Sage threatens new growth of yellow chincherinchee.

Chincherinchee, “Chim chim cheree” and Julie Andrews in all her straight backed youth and approachable poshness. Clear and commanding. Such contrast to the inexplicable accent and physical comedy of Dick Van Dyke, whom I met when I was almost nine and my mother took me to Harrah’s to see The Music Man. My mother who wanted to give me more than she had, who could make even you feel loved, whose charisma hid her addictions and disorders. My mother charmed whoever needed to be charmed, and I, full from having witnessed song and rhythm transform a Reno casino into a wholesome Midwestern fever dream, I met Dick Van Dyke.

Reno. Casinos and cowboys. Swelter and snow. There are photos from that same year. Me falling gleefully into the wet white. Snowshoes kicked out from under. Laughter and snowballs. I am glad there are documents of joy amid the terror.

Only now, when I look at sunken imprints left in Marin mud, do I wonder. How did the High Sierra cows navigate the winter? Deep holes disguised by soft powder. Sugar pine and white fir. With no buckle, no break.

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^{1 A “spruce trap” is created when deep snow hides a cavity that resembles solid snow between buried branches, creating a void that humans and animals can fall into and may be too deep to climb out of.}

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