Seen And Unseen Marvels of the Moment, Wonder, and Thanksgiving for Nature by Donna and Tim Bishop Donna: Jack Clive Staples, our wonder dog, let me know in no uncertain terms that his water bowl was empty. I took it to the sink and glanced out the kitchen window as it filled. I was surprised by a large red-tailed hawk sitting on the back of our garden bench. It looked like it was enjoying a day in the park. I called for Tim to come see. Tim was getting the camera when the hawk flew away. When he returned, I told him the bird flew off low and toward the vegetable garden. I lost sight of it in the trees aſter that. Tim quietly stepped outside and then, I saw him chuckle. My husband motioned for me to join him. e hawk hadn’t gone far. It was sitting on the head of my garden scarecrow! We took a few photos proving just how well the scarecrow didn’t scare! Later, I wondered how much goes on in the yard that we don’t see. Tim: e segment of the Appalachian Trail that passes through New Hampshire is particularly rugged. My backpacking partner and I were at the end of our week-long hike with dozens of miles behind us and a steep climb waiting ahead. I was taking a turn leading with my friend following a few hundred feet behind. Backpacking inevitably becomes a solitary experience regardless of the presence of companions. e breathtaking vistas, fern-carpeted forest floors, and old-growth trees no longer inspired my thoughts. I was focused on my boot tips and the next tiring step up the steep ridge. Suddenly, I was aware that I had unknowingly unleashed the ire of something just ahead. A large turkey, which the grandmother in a Norman Rockwell painting would have been proud to serve, was blocking the narrow trail. By trail, I mean the overgrown space between the trees through which a backpack could just be squeezed. e body language of the big bird looming before me communicated: “You shall not pass!” just as Gandalf brandishing his staff in “e Lord of the Rings.” Now, it may seem amusing to be challenged to a duel by a crazed turkey in the forests of New England, but it was less amusing to me. We were miles from roads and towns in the days before the ubiqui- tous cell phone. I knew enough about turkeys to realize the razor sharp spurs on its legs could do some dam- age. If I had been paying attention to my surroundings, instead of admiring my boots, I could have passed well around him and warned my friend off the trail. Instead, I backed slowly away and tried to get around it. is only infuriated him more. As he closed the ground between us in a frenzy of tail feathers and