Learning life lessons from nature

Photo by Susan Parrish/From the ranch on Wolf Creek Reservoir

You know that creepy feeling that you're being watched? You don't see anyone, but you sense someone staring at you?

That's how I felt as I stood outside on a remote ranch in eastern Oregon as I worked out with my weighted hula hoop. It's a great core workout. And it's fun.

All around me were miles of sagebrush-covered hills. In the distance, the Elkhorn Range was to the west, the snow-capped Wallowa Mountains to the east. The closest farmhouse was quite a spell down the gravel road. No other people were about. So why were the hairs on the back of my neck standing up?

"There's no one watching you," I told myself. And I kept hooping. 

But that creepy feeling persisted. There definitely was someone watching me! I scanned the landscape in front of me: Breathtaking natural beauty, but no one in sight. 

Someone must be standing behind me! I stopped hooping and spun around to catch the Peeping Tom.

It wasn't just one Peeping Tom--but four! Yes--four! 

Standing only thirty feet away from me were four mule deer. Four does staring at me, their large ears upright and at attention. They seemed to be entranced by my hula hoop action. Now that I'd stopped hooping, they stood motionless, their eyes fixed on me. Perhaps they were waiting to see if the hula hoop entertainment would continue. After a couple of minutes, my deer admirers wandered over the hill in search of breakfast. 

Mule deer in sagebrush and snow. Photo by Tom Koerner/USFWS
Photo in public domain. See license here.

On another morning shortly after that, I faced the glorious mountain view, stepped into my hoop, planted my feet shoulder-width apart, pulled the hoop to my waist, and gave it a spin. Then I gyrated my waist and hips to keep the hoop spinning. After a few seconds, I found my groove and no longer had to focus on keeping the hoop moving. My mind wandered.

A loud whinny interrupted my thoughts. I stopped hooping and spun around. 

One of the horses grazing in the upper pasture had spotted my spinning hula hoop. Galloping down the hilly pasture, she made a beeline for me and my fascinating hoop. She stopped abruptly at the fence that separated us. Then she stood watching me with her lovely horsey eyes. Transfixed, she stared at me. She stared at my hula hoop. (I believe that in her own horsey way, she was smiling.)

Photo by Susan Parrish/Heather and Ryleigh's horse,
Simply Red Robin, aka "Red" entranced by my hula hoop

I laughed and asked her, "Would you like to hula hoop, too?"

Then still facing the horse, I spun my hoop again. My horse admirer watched the spinning hoop for several minutes. Maybe she was imagining her own hula hooping fun. Ranch horses in eastern Oregon aren't accustomed to seeing rugged ranchers and mountain men hula hooping amongst the sagebrush.

After these two animal-hula hoop encounters, I realized that some animals seemed intrigued by watching my spinning hula hoop. 

"I must be some kind of animal whisperer," I told myself. "I entrance animals with my hula hoop."  

Fast forward three years. I'd moved back to the city, where I am blessed to live in a cozy home at the edge of the woods. I regularly encounter rabbits, raccoons, deer, coyotes and many kinds of birds. I hadn't hooped in a long time, but I was ready to start again. So one morning I stepped onto the front porch, where large evergreen trees only 20 feet away. 

Facing the trees, I spun my hoop around my waist started hooping. Almost immediately, small birds flew to a large evergreen nearby, landed in the tree and began chattering. More and more little birds flew to join them. Their chattering grew louder and more insistent.

I recalled my hula hooping attracting deer and a horse. Were birds also intrigued with the rotating hoop? I kept hooping to find out what would happen next.

Soon the smaller birds were joined by a bright blue Steller's jay who landed in the tree and began urgently calling "Wek! Wek! Wek!"

Steller's jay photo by Alan D. Wilson www.naturespicsonline.com
Photo in public domain. See license here. 

The Steller's jay was joined by another jay. Then another. Soon many jays had gathered in the evergreen tree and were squawking loudly in accompaniment to the chorus of smaller birds.

"Wow!" I thought. "These birds are really curious about my hula hoop!"

I smiled and kept hooping.

Next, a crow landed in the tree and squawked, "Caw! Caw! Caw!" 

Northwestern crow photo by Alan Leggett
Photo in public domain. See license here.

Then about a dozen crows joined him in the tree. All joined their raspy voices to the avian choir. 

"Even the crows are curious about my hoop," I told myself.

But when the murder of crows lifted off and began circling the tree and making lots of noise, I realized this attention was not about my hula hoop. There was something else in that tree. Sliding my hoop to the ground, I walked toward the evergreen where dozens of agitated birds were squawking, chirping and flitting about. 

As I approached the base of the tree, an enormous owl that had been perching in the tree silently lifted off and flew away. The noisy crows chased it across the sky until it was out of sight.

Great Horned Owl photo by Jon Nelson
Photo in public domain. See license here.

Here's the lesson I learned: Sometimes what I'm doing might interest others. But most of the time, everyone else is so focused on their own issues--like an enormous predator hanging out in neighborhood and making them feel unsafe. They're so concerned about their own problems that they don't even see me or my magnificent hula hoop.

Going forward, I vowed three things: 

1. Be open to learning from nature and the natural world. I miss so many lessons because my eyes and heart aren't open to recognize them and receive them.

2. Recognize I'm not the center of the universe. My adventures with my hula hoop aren't that compelling to anyone but me and me alone. Everyone is focused on  their own issues. I'm going to pay better attention to other people and their issues.

3. I will keep doing my own thing and not worry about whether what I'm doing is interesting or sanctioned by others. You do you. I'll do me. And as for me, I'll keep on hooping and adventuring.

Photo by Susan Parrish/Heather's horses in the sage at the ranch

Susan Parrish hula hooping while giving a presentation
about learning new lessons in midlife