cozy green nest

Somewhere in our woods, there’s a squirrel curled up right now in a nest made super-cozy by an olive-green knit headband. The squirrel worked that headband round and round with its clever little hands, after it dragged it all the way up the tree, unsnagging it from bark and little twigs on the way. And then the squirrel turned it this way, that way, until the big floppy flower part came to rest at just the right angle for squirrel’s little head, big eyes closed tight and dreaming. In the spring, when the babies come, they’ll grow up surrounded and warmed by the soft yarn, in a little world washed green by sunlight streaming through the strands of olive wool, up high in the branches of a redwood.

At least that’s what I like to think happened to my headband.

I’ve dropped things in the woods before. Generally I find them again, which always seems a little miraculous. One day a few weeks ago, I got home and, drat, the black beanie that had been in my jacket pocket was gone, probably snagged by an errant manzanita branch as I broke my way down-trail. That’ll teach me to leave my pockets unzipped. I’d gotten that hat for free, but still, it was useful, so I was sorry, even though I do have others. But then a few days later, coming down the same trail, there it was, just waiting for me, a little dusty but no worse for its little outing, evidence that probably I had been the only person to travel that way for a bit.  I like knowing that.

Recently, because I had too many things in my hands on a day where I clearly didn’t have enough (unzipped) pockets, I managed to return home without the dog’s harness. I thought perhaps I’d thrown it away by mistake, when I lobbed the two poop-sacks into the can at the top of the climb. Drat. I kept meaning to and forgetting to buy another one, dooming myself to water-skiing around the neighborhood towed by the fast boat of that energetic dog of mine. But I also had a suspicion. And sure enough, four days later, there that harness was, picked up and placed on a trail-sign where it couldn't be missed. Thanks, neighbor!

So you might imagine that I was pretty sure that olive-green knit headband would find its way back to me, its loss only temporary. I realized it was gone even before the hike was over, but it was a work-day and there was no time for back-tracking. I did love that headband, purchased at Anthropologie on a day when I went in to find a little gift for a friend who was having a hard time. I got her one in red, myself one in green. I loved that thing (probably more than she did, actually). It had a lovely loose stitch, and was just-right for keeping the ears warm and bringing a little oomph to the more utilitarian hiking garb.

Sure, I rued dropping it, but then again I’d gotten used to my stuff just hanging around in the woods for a few days, then returning to me.

Not this time.

Since then, for  two weeks, I’ve got my eyes peeled at a certain point on my regular route, remembering that this is generally the spot where I’m beginning to strip off layers, the 30-degree temperatures no match for the relentless uphill I’m on. Off comes the headwear. Then the gloves. Then the jacket or vest, unzipped or taken off altogether, until the downhill when the cold re-appears.

Every time I’ve hit that point for the past two weeks, I’ve scanned the area of either side of the trail, looking for a flash of bright green in the oak leaves amidst the trees, looking for some break in the usual pattern. Sometimes bright moss will catch my eye. Not my headband. Or a downed branch covered with lichen. Not my headband.

I thought maybe it’d be waiting for me at the trail-sign, just like the halter. Nope.

And even though I keep looking for it, I also entertain this other story, this image of a squirrel cozied up with this matchless find, especially given the freezing nights we’ve been having. I know it’s possible that another hiker found it and made it their own (I’ve certainly done that), but that image doesn’t have the same hold on me.

Instead I’m moving through my usual landscape these days, my eyes trained on the squirrels as they run and chatter overhead, thinking surely one of them is headed to a home made better by what I left behind, cozier, greener. By then I’m sweating and peeling layers.  I take off my hat and, this time, zip my pocket.

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