Minnesota Prairie Roots

THEY LEAPT LIKE BALLERINAS across the dirt trail, white tutu tails flashing.

They were a herd of 11 deer sighted recently at Faribault’s River Bend Nature Center. I stood on Raccoon Trail aside Randy simply watching. One after the other they leapt with such grace, such practiced precision.

Only moments earlier, as we hiked down Arbor Trail on the nature center’s northeast side, Randy touched my arm, motioning me to stop. There, ahead of us, across the intersecting dirt path, several deer lingered in lowland grasses. I didn’t initially see them, my distance vision not all that acute. But eventually I spotted the camouflaged deer.

And then we saw more in the distance, nearer the Prairie Loop. There, barely visible behind trees.

A sense of wonderment, of awe, of just wanting to take in the scene before me overtook my spirit. Such moments in nature deserve full attention. We watched while two men walked right past us, unaware of the nearby deer so engaged were they in conversation.

We waited, whisper-quiet. Watching. Then the deer moved, ambling along the edge of tall dried grasses, staying parallel to the trail. Soon more deer emerged from a stand of trees and trailed the first traveling troupe. It was a sight, the endless stream of deer moving east.

Our attention turned that direction, toward the deer, one by one, long-leaping over Raccoon Trail, into the woods, up the hill, toward the prairie. We started counting. One, two, three…all the way to eleven. Only when the last deer exited the stage did we dare move, so mesmerized were we by the performance.

Randy and I resumed our hike, following Raccoon Trail until the biting wind of the March evening prompted us to turn back. By that time we were talking again or walking in comfortable silence. I wished aloud that I had my 35 mm camera with me. I’ve never been this near so many deer at River Bend. Eleven. But perhaps it was better I was without my camera so I could focus on the moment rather than on focusing and framing images.

Then, back at the intersection of Raccoon and Arbor Trails, Randy alerted me to more deer. Five this time. Standing statute still, without stage fright. Watching us. Us watching them in a stare-down. I wondered which of us would move first. Wildlife or human.

I ooohed over the cute babies, last year’s fawns. Even if deer are dreadful when darting onto roadways and unwanted when dining on garden flowers and vegetables, I appreciate them in their natural habitat. This is their home, their stage, this land of tall grasses and woods. Here they walk with elegance. Here they leap with the grace of seasoned ballet dancers. Here they give me pause to stop, to listen to the trill of red-winged blackbirds as we watch each other—deer and human—in the fading light of a March evening at River Bend.

© Copyright 2024 Audrey Kletscher Helbling