I was sitting at the edge of the forest during a rare day of sun a few months ago, watching a blacktail doe and her fawn eat fallen madrone berries.
Madrone trees grow in a narrow band between the Pacific and the coastal mountains, all the way down from Vancouver Island to California. They are evergreen with peely bark, always shedding, slow growing, with a tropical kind of vibe. They can grow as large and magnificent as an oak, with full crowns, and hard, unyielding wood.
I love the flavor of their berries: sweet, puckering, dry, and squishy, like gummy candies. I ate handfuls of them this early winter.
Watching the deer graze so close, I could see their noses twitching toward each cluster of fallen berries. Their quick tongues whipping out, left and right. The ends of their muzzles are flexible, teeth lacking on top, just a rough palate pad perfect for stripping leaves of branches, and eating berries.
I watched the doe and her fawn graze for a long time, shaking down berries here and there for them, tossing big clusters in their path. It is always interesting to be in the presence of a wild animal. And it's rare when they feel completely comfortable and at ease, so close I could see myself reflected in their giant eyes.
After a while, the doe and fawn wandered away. I stood and walked uphill, toward a road where people walk their dogs. There was a perfect place to sit in the bright sun, looking southwest. I just stayed there for a while. I felt like I had nowhere else I needed to be.