Tracking and Stories

The other day was the coldest of the winter so far. The thermometer read negative eight degrees Fahrenheit, and the windchill reached negative double digits. But with seven inches of new snow on the ground, I knew that the tracking conditions were perfect for finding out what the animals had been up to last night. Bundled in my winter best, I went out tracking with the simple intention to walk in the path of one of the mammalian residents of our local woods.

Within about half an hour of searching, I found a fresh, clear trail of a red fox. The trail was just a few hours old and was a beautiful “written” record of this fox’s life from early this same morning. I slowly walked beside the fox tracks for about a mile and a half over the course of two hours. Even though the fox wasn’t physically present, I could sense its personality recorded in the tracks and it was as if I was watching a documentary.

As I became more attuned to the tracks and the landscape, I started to be able to predict which way the fox would turn before I saw in the tracks where it had turned. I figured out she was female from the placement a spot of pee in the snow. I found myself laughing as the fox went out of her way to walk on a log just because it was there. I saw where she sped up, slowed down, turned her head to the right, and inspected a vole tunnel with her highly sensitive nose. Eventually, I saw where she met up with another fox, and I saw how their trails and lives intermingled. When my fox’s trail went off over a ridge and into the rest of her day, I let our trails diverge. I imagined the fox looking in earnest for a meal, and I, too, headed home with visions of coffee and lunch in my mind.

Like the fox, as we live our lives, we also walk on the Earth. In a very physical way, our tracks record the diary of our lives. A literal series of symbols that tell our story: our habits, what are we drawn to or shy away from, where we linger and where we rush through, what catches our attention and what we miss. One beautiful way to begin understanding ourselves and to read these diary entries is to begin by reading those of the wild creatures around us. Just like us, the deer, fox, squirrels, and house cats lay down a story that can be read. There are times of ease, moments of fear or struggle, clarity and questions, all recorded by their movements on the canvas of the Earth.

Mindfulness is a practice of being present for what is happening right in the moment as it unfolds, but this awareness is supported by bringing curiosity and an openness to all that we see. This includes where we have come from and where we are going. If you happen to live in a part of the world where it snows or the earth readily shows tracks such as in sand or soft soils, you can step out and immediately pick up the thread of some animal’s story. If you follow it with an open heart and mind, you may find yourself living vicariously through it. Compassion for the challenges it faces and interest in its well-being arise naturally, and you may begin to feel the bond between you grow. Tracking animals, reading the stories, and asking questions such as who this is, where they are going, and what their experience of life just now is teaches us to take more notice of ourselves as well and to feel the interconnectedness of all things. We have more in common than is different with the lives of the wild ones. Just like us, the animals have families, routines, losses, and celebrations. Just like them, we are also dependent on the land, made of this Earth, finding our way.

Try: Walk with a wild one! The next time you find yourself in a place with mud, sand, or snow, look for a set of tracks you can follow for a little way—it makes no difference whether you know what animal you are walking with. As you walk, you will start to learn its personality. From where you stand, take note of where the trail seems to be coming from and where it is going. It’s helpful to zoom out and in your mind’s eye picture the trail in the context of the greater landscape. Are there any big features that this animal may be drawn toward or need to avoid—rivers, roads, buildings, steep slopes, etc.? How might the animal be directed by the environment or the land itself?

Now, zooming in a little closer, get a feel for the tracks and trail right in front of you. Does the space between the tracks seem small or large? Are the prints clear or distorted? If in a forested area, does the trail go over fallen logs, around, or even under? Is it willing to get its feet wet and muddy? Is there more than one set of prints or tracks of the same creature coming and going in different directions? Do you get the sense of urgency or purpose in the trail or something different? As you walk, let your own personality and wants fade a bit and allow the spirit of the animal fill you. Then you, too, are walking with the wild ones.