Hunkering down

Today we went for a long grumble, which is what I call hikes, particularly those that go straight up a muddy mountain with a three-year-old newly (and not entirely convincingly) potty-trained. We saw no wildlife other than feral cows, although we did see quite a lot of evidence that deer had been that way. This to the immense excitement of the little boy who, underwhelmed by the natural glories of the mountains, the mighty Sheep river, the Romantic chasms, the wild raspberries, and the song of the noble whiskeyjack, revelled in each and every sighting of deer poo. At last count, it was something like 462 over 7 kilometers. Finally he commented that maybe that deer wasn't feeling too well.

All this leads me to wonder why we wander. What are we hoping to see besides incontrovertible evidence that other creatures have passed the same way? A witch's cottage, so that our fears can be removed from remote Lebanon and Iraq and Washington? A magical lamp post? Hippos (which, incidentally, Lief did really see, it was purple with green ears)? One another with bright pink cheeks? I know what I'm looking for: a badger. If I could just see a badger (it wouldn't even have to be a talking badger) I would know that the world was going to be okay--that the people who just get things done, who tell stories late at night, who might not be the most glamorous souls but still have pretty glossy fur and don't much mind the dirt, who appreciate peace and quiet, that those kind of people are still around, still keeping the world on its axis, despite recent attempts to set us all at one another's throats.

So here's to badgers. Long may they rule.