It was a perfect day to forage for chanterelles, sleekly gilled and funnel-shaped mushrooms that are the envy of every gourmand. Cantharellus cibarius are prized for their woodsy flavor and emerge in late summer. After a dense rain, air perfumed with salt from the bay and cedar in the forest, I still hear my mother’s lilting voice instructing me never to uproot a chanterelle because then the spores might not reproduce. “Bring a knife!” she’d always say.
With my golden retriever and collie, I headed up the trail. From miles of forest walking to soothe the warp of my parents’ recent deaths, I was tuned to the dogs on some atavistic level. Where one trail forks into the next, fresh coyote scats marked a boulder with fur and toenails, remains of a vole or shrew or wandering cat. When the dogs’ hair stood up, ears full forward, I snapped them onto one leash.
The coyote standing directly above me was tawny and strong, ears erect. In the Olympic forests, I’ve spotted red fox, bobcat, deer, elk, mountain goats, cougar, and myriad smaller mammals. Twice, on trails or while bushwhacking, I’ve faced bears and cubs at close range. Although I’ve spotted coyotes from a distance, this was my first direct encounter.
For a moment, she stared into my eyes and then leaped off the trail into the huckleberry and salal. When I returned to our cabin, mushroom harvest tied to my belt in a cloth sack, Mark touched my forehead.
“She’s your new spirit guide,” he said.
Originally published in The Great American Literary Magazine
Up close and personal is the way! Happy you added to your list of spirit animals for your journey. Its crazy that we both wrote about the same topic this week.