Last week’s busy post-thanksgiving schedule coupled with a midweek rain prevented us from accomplishing everything we had hoped to get done on the job site by Friday. Saturday became catch-up day, so instead of lounging away the early hours of the day over breakfast, newspapers and projects around the house, at 8 a.m. I was rolling down N.C. 116 toward Webster on route to Cullowhee. There was not a lot of traffic at that hour except for yard sale warriors, working stiffs like myself and a hand full of overly ambitious Christmas shoppers out for some early a.m. spending.

As I rounded the set of curves where the Savannah River makes its last stride toward the Tuckaseegee, I saw down the road a large, furry, immobile, seemingly lifeless creature laid out in my lane. It wasn’t the usual woodchuck, rabbit or opossum variety of road kill but a much grander specimen occupying my right-of-way and separating me from my destination.

I feared it was someone’s pet, turned out to run on it’s own accord across the hills and coves while the owner sat inside and drank coffee. I’ve argued with many for leashed and penned dogs, for their own safety as well as for their neighbors’ rights, but I am usually met with the “dogs need to run” excuse. I’ve seen them run, and I’ve seen them immediately stop running all along I-40, U.S. 276, N.C. 209, N.C. 19, N.C. 74, U.S. 441 and a lot of windy back roads in between. I was hoping some sweet child didn’t lose Spot or Fluffy today because somebody let the dog run.

I slowed down to a near stop and eased my way around the mammal, now distinguishable as a coyote, a big one, taken out by an unknown motorist as evidenced by the broken piece of red plastic bumper laying next to the carcass, completing for me the story of the creatures demise. Coyotes are not held in very high regard by many. Farmers, ranchers, “sportsmen” and pet owners have shot at, poisoned, trapped, bombed, baited and pursued them for centuries, seeing them only as pests, threats, competition and dangerous predators. I stopped and got out to move the corpse to the side of the road, out of the path of oncoming tires to prevent an accident and an inevitable end as a bloody, flattened mess on the pavement, a casualty of growth, sprawl and bad timing.

When I pulled the animal to the roads edge I saw not the vicious attacker, ruthless thief or scheming villain but an exquisitely designed hunting machine packaged in a perfectly luxurious fur coat. I visualized it winding down a deep wooded path returning to its young back at the den, mentally overlooking the thigh bone sticking through its fur and the marks from some bumper that bashed in its cranium.

As a wildlife enthusiast, I know that many animal fatalities occur when scavengers approach the remains of road kill along the highways, they themselves becoming victims to 60 m.p.h. predators. If I moved the animal to the side of the road it would attract others in search of an easy meal, or it would lay in the ditch for weeks before returning to the wild dust from which it arose, a sad reminder to all who passed of how our growing human world has changed the life and landscape of the wild creatures. I could also call the highway department and hope they got to it in the next week or so. After a moment’s contemplation I hoisted the limp carcass into the back of my truck for transport to our farm and a proper burial.

One of the things that has become increasingly clear to me is that most people like the wildness of nature, but they love the tamed and settled built environment. Most would take convenience and services over forests and field any day, access to shopping instead of access to solitude. The majority of America’s citizens live, work and play in our nation’s cities and towns, going to the forests and wilderness only for a holiday of rest and rejuvenation. They come to the mountains seeking the peace and serenity that many urban/ suburban areas have lost to sprawl, traffic and endless lights and noise. To some, nature is best enjoyed through the car window, a safe distance from any possible harm. I want to be more engaged and in contact with nature, and that’s one of the reasons I chose to settle here rather than Charlotte, Atlanta, or even Asheville. I want to be surrounded by the intricacies of nature, which can include tornados, blizzards and coyotes.

When I got back to the house, I started digging a hole at the edge of my fields, next to where I had buried the fox I found last year. I heard a vehicle coming up the drive. My friend pulled in and walked over towards me. “What you up to?”

“Burying a coyote,” I said as I hit a big rock with my shovel. We dug and wrestled with the rock a while until we got it up and out of the hole. You don’t have to do a lot of digging in a hole if you pull out a big enough rock. We finished our job, said a simple blessing and walked away.

In these busy times and our haste to live full lives, we try get the day’s work done as quickly as possible, often failing to notice the wildness and wilderness that slips away through our fingers in a million small ways. Sometimes we inadvertently or carelessly crush a part of what makes these mountains some of the rare remaining rural and wild areas on the east coast. I hope we have the sense and wisdom to save some of what is wild, some of what inspires and sustains us, and some of what keeps us coming back to the wilderness for more.

(John Beckman is a building contractor and operations manager at Unahwi Ridge Community in Jackson County. He can be reached at www.unahwiridge.com)

 

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