The Loners — Michelle McAfee

Enjoying their solitude immensely

Loners live on this land. Last spring, a yearling deer was born in the damp, brown-needled duff on the forest floor. Her mama taught her to survive on this acreage where there is food, water, and friendly humans. I frequently watched the pair from my living room window that first season, grazing grass in the yard. The little one was the size of a young golden retriever, with a velvety spotted coat, big brown eyes, and a soft brown nose. On hot summer days, the mama folded her legs, dropped down, and slept, resting her back against the big clay pot I fill full of water when the creeks dry out. The little one bit at flies in the air and laid in the shaded grass under a Doug Fir tree while her mama slept. Sometimes they would nap in the yard for five minutes or hours through the afternoon heat. It made me grateful I’m a writer. I never had to disturb them by opening the door to leave. Their presence was calming and distracting for me sitting in the chair by the living room window, trying to do my work.

Sometime over the winter, the mama deer disappeared, leaving the baby orphaned. Maybe she was hit by a car, taken down by a cougar, or caught by a bunch of dogs running loose. The baby deer found her way back to this land, and this is where she stays. Her name is Dewey because she’s always out in the meadow grazing in the early morning hours when the grass is silvery wet with dew. She gets in a good meal before the other does and yearlings show up and run her off. Dewey tried shadowing those deer for a month, asking for acceptance - or tolerance. She wanted a herd to roam with, but they chased her into the forest. Nature can be cruel. When the herd leaves, Dewey has the place to herself. Yesterday morning in the chilly air, she was standing at the edge of the yard broadside to the sun. I saw her yawn, head drooped slightly, eyes at half-mast. She looked peaceful, relaxed. Dewey seemed to be enjoying her solitude immensely.

Another loner here is Mabel. The backyard chicken flock is a colorful array of seven Wyandott birds and one Barred Rock. Mabel is the odd one out. She’s a White Crested Black Polish with a bouffant of white feathers on her head and a sleek, black body. She’s a bantam, half the size of the larger hens. Elvis, the rooster, looks more like Mabel, but he fell in love with the large multicolored hens and banished the petite bouffant. He chases her from the rest of the flock the way the deer herd runs Dewey away. Mabel orbits around them, staying ten to twenty feet clear, near enough to be with the crowd but always alone. In the coop, Mabel sleeps by herself on a lower roost. If she moves up to be warm near another hen, they peck her until she gives up or falls down. Nature can be cruel. Mabel and I have a secret agreement. When the rest of the flock is out free-ranging, she stays behind, and I slip her some extra cracked corn scratch. She eats in peace without the bullies bossing her around. Mabel seems to enjoy her solitude immensely.

I sit here in my windowed loft, keeping an eye on the loners. I resonate with them, like three notes making a strange, beautiful chord. I work from home, so I stay home, going nowhere except for outings to the grocery store and driving to nearby rivers and lakes. Occasionally, the social butterfly in me whines and wilts, wings flopped over on the ground waiting for some kind of spring thaw. A rough bout of Covid in March 2020, and a year of Long-Covid after, left me with a mighty fear of catching that bug again. So, I keep company with the other loners on this land and a handful of friends. The hermit in me is thriving, stoked to finally be given a long stretch of time, guilt-free, to just be…alone. I’m writing, taking long walks in the woods, creating, dreaming.

I let go of wishing for things to be “normal” again. Evolution doesn’t work that way. Instead, I’m painting a new picture of life on the blank canvass I was handed, and there is a yearling deer in the meadow, a crazy looking chicken in the back yard, and a self-made hermit with social butterfly wings looking out from a cabin window with a sly smile on her face. She seems to be enjoying her solitude immensely.

Click the Subscribe box to have stories and essays from my life to yours sent directly to your inbox. Email subscribers get stories weeks before they appear publicly on the website - be the first to read and share your comments or stories in the chat!

Thanks for being here!