There aren’t many sounds more haunting than the staccato bark of a coyote just before midnight.
In the blackness of the woods, it’s impossible to tell if the coyote — which are known to live in familial packs but are solitary hunters — is nearby or far away, or if there’s just one or a dozen. The yapping starts quietly and becomes louder.
Soon, it’s everywhere at once — overlapping howls and barks that suddenly reverberate through the woods from all directions.
Then, the barking stops as quickly as it starts and the deathly silence that follows is perhaps even more unnerving.
Around 2 a.m. last weekend, I was camping on the wooded property of a friend’s house with my wife, Brianna, and Juneau, my family’s border collie, when the coyotes started communicating. I felt Juneau stir into wakefulness at my feet. He was restless and tense. So was I.
I lay awake staring into the darkness at the tent ceiling for I don’t know how long listening to the coyotes as Brianna slept.
When the pandemic began — shuttering businesses and closing down access to state-run parks — Brianna and I immediately started searching for alternative camping options. Under normal circumstances, camping is a regular weekend activity for us in the warmer months. And while state parks and private campsites have announced plans reopen, a few weeks ago we weren’t sure if we’d be able to camp at all this summer.
So, as a birthday surprise for Brianna, I reached out last month to good friends who own a house deep in the woods and we planned a secret camping getaway.
It was on our second night of camping that I awoke to the coyotes. After initially feeling unnerved and vulnerable within the thin tent, I settled down and began to appreciate being with them in nature. It was their home; I was visiting.
Generally speaking, much of modern society is pretty far removed from the rhythm of nature. Many of us live behind energy efficient walls and travel around in air conditioned vehicles. Music is streamed digitally and much of our communication — especially these days — happens via instant messaging.
Unless you’re a farmer who’s concerned about livestock, most people probably don’t stay awake worrying about coyotes.
Of course, for creatures who live outside the realm of human society, it’s a different story. I’m sure the nightly yipping of coyotes strikes fear into the heart of every cottontail rabbit residing within earshot. Field mice are most likely very concerned about the whereabouts of every red tailed hawk in the county.
It’s all about perspective. We care about that which is relevant to us.
Lately, for many who’ve been forced to stay indoors because of the coronavirus, I bet top concerns have included finding new activities to beat boredom. For me during one night around midnight last weekend, coyotes topped my priority list. For a little while, nature was the only thing that mattered.
I wonder what our society would look like if more people intentionally escaped into the woods to be with the coyotes and the rabbits and all of that silence? I wonder what Earth would look like if nature was at the top of everyone’s priority list?
Andy Castillo is the features editor at the Greenfield Recorder. He can be reached at acastillo@recorder.com.