Vixens
Recently I posted the question, “Does anyone have a topic they would like me to wonder about?” and I received several answers. I will definitely ponder about the proliferation of noisy gas/electric lawn tools. I personally loathe them and will choose a quiet manual tool any day. And I feel challenged to wonder about just why is the number 2 pencil still number 2 if it is the most popular pencil. I know the technical answer but it could be fun to come up with a creative one. However, for today’s wondering I am going to stick to a subject that, for a few months now, has been front and center. It wasn’t suggested. It was forced upon me. Sometimes the signs are just too great to ignore.
If you have been wondering along with me then you may have read Perspective back in May. That little mental meandering ended with me detailing an evening encounter with a gray fox. Now I didn’t think much of seeing one because 1) I live in the country and next to a wooded lot 2) Gray foxes tend to be either nocturnal or crepuscular and 3) I have encountered these adorable anime faced canines several times before. Even so, this season has proven to be the summer of the gray fox. I mean I just haven't been able to avoid seeing or hearing them so I am left to believe that maybe there is a lesson I need to learn.
After that initial encounter when the gray fox came climbing over the stone wall in pursuit of my fluffy barn kitty either she or some other vixen has been hanging around the property (for this wondering I am going to believe it is the same one). At first I thought the encounters were random but then they became frequent enough that I half expected to see her every time I did evening chores. I will detail a few of my brushes with this bushy tailed vixen just so you can get an understanding as to why I must pursue this train of thought.
My second run in with the lovely little lady happened one late night while I was putting the horses away. I had just finished calling them in from the top field and was walking across their main pasture to the barn. As the norm, I had a barn cat on my heels but little did I know that she also had someone in hot pursuit of her. As I approached the lit up barn yard I turned to greet my cat and got quite the surprise when I had a second pair of eyes looking at me. The fox stopped, turned, and ran towards the brush covered corner of the field. My little calico tabby was completely unperturbed and that got me to wondering… what’s with this fox and my cats? As with the first encounter I happily went back to the house to share this tale with the family.
Then a few days later, at dawn, I walked down the driveway to close the front gates before sending the horses out to graze during the cool morning hours. Who do you think I saw? Yup, there she was on the tail of a woodchuck. I’m not going to lie. I was rooting for her. We have a lot of those chubby little garden chompers here on the property. The woodchuck and fox disappeared into the overgrown and reclaimed farmland across the street.
So as the summer progressed the gray fox continued to be a pleasant surprise until the night she nearly scared my daughter half to death. There is nothing like getting ready for bed and hearing a raspy, gravelly cry coming from behind your house. If I were an eight year girl, I would have been startled by the unfamiliar bark as well. I assured her everything was fine and stepped out the back door to see the glowing eyes of the daring vixen staring back at me. She didn’t appear to be bothered by my presence. I wondered what brought her up to my back door. Was she looking for the cats? Were they … ‘friends’…?
Now some of you may be thinking that the fox would want to eat my cats but I’m confident that no such thing would ever happen. A gray fox isn’t much bigger than a typical adult cat and they really don’t like the fight a feline can put up. So maybe just maybe these two species have learned to happily coexist on my property. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but something tells me those cat and fox chases were not coincidental.
But the sighting that sealed the deal for this wondering was the time the vixen was spotted during peak daylight hours. My husband and I were sitting in the front yard trying to capture some photos of songbirds. It was a scorching hot day and there she was trotting across the dusty main pasture, mouth agape, from the direction of the barn. She ducked under the fence, crossed the driveway and continued on through the tall grass of the next pasture. Lucky for me my husband had his camera in hand and he was able to shoot her as she nonchalantly passed us by. I thought it odd that she would be out while the sun was so high in the sky. That is not typical gray fox behavior. But it was a 90+ degree day and thirst would be an excellent reason for any animal to break routine. As we were looking at the photos we noticed that she had teats full of milk. Of course! She’s a lactating mother and a thirsty one. This was not a social call. This was survival. I’m hoping, for her sake, she chose the fresh water in the cats’ water bowl over the stagnant pond water.
So, on and off throughout, these summer months I’ve been thinking about her. Her nighttime playfulness intrigued me and her motherly duty endeared her to me. I couldn’t help but feel connected to her. And we all know by now that I am a big believer in signs. So I spent some time contemplating the symbolic meaning of a gray fox and how it may apply to my life right now. I also kept thinking about the word vixen and its various meanings and how they may pertain to me. Armed with this knowledge I got to wondering and, damn, it was eye opening.
Words like sly and cunning are often used to describe foxes but I’d rather think of foxes as intelligent, resourceful, opportunistic, and persistent. (Heck! I even wrote about a Red Fox after it killed and ran off with one of my hens.) That being said, I think I am very lucky to have crossed paths with the gray fox so many times this summer. She symbolizes not only mischief, opportunity, playfulness, agility, cleverness, beauty, luck, curiosity, charm and physical and mental responsiveness but also wisdom, refinement, and good taste. Likewise, she is a necessary reminder that I need to be discerning of both the circumstances and people in my life. Now if that isn’t a good sign then I don’t know what is! After all, I have so many plans for the future, I believe that it couldn’t hurt to embody some of these qualities. Maybe she showed up to remind me of this because, I don’t need to tell you, that it is very easy to get stuck in the day to day mundane.
All my wondering about the significance of seeing the vixen got me to ponder the actual word vixen. Some of you may have just learned that a female fox is called a vixen. Most of you probably know the more modern and informal meaning: a sexually attractive woman. I was surprised to learn that that definition didn’t become popular until the mid 20th century. However, I was even more shocked to learn that vixen was originally used to describe a shrewish, ill-tempered woman. Isn’t that funny? The same word can be used to describe two very different types of women.
Now this is where I begin my descent into understanding the significance of my discovery. Seriously, it couldn’t have come at a better time. Lately I feel like I’m morphing from the modern use of the word to the original one. I’m sure some of the ladies out there might relate, but I know that if the first foxy lady I’ve ever known was still alive she would have a lot to say on this topic. You guessed it, my mom Ginger, embodied both definitions during the course of her life. She was movie star beautiful in her youth with her dark hair, crystal blue eyes, high cheek bones, and perfectly proportioned curves. She prized her beauty and at times even allowed her vanity to get the better of her. I know it was difficult for her to no longer be viewed as alluring by the opposite sex (well my dad thought she was hot) and envied by her own. I distinctly recall her turning forty and pulling back the skin on her face imagining herself with a face lift. I was 7 at the time and although I thought she was ancient I also thought she was acting crazy for wanting to change how she looked. To me she was flawless. But now that I’m in my 40s I can understand why she felt that way. I definitely don’t look like my twenty something vixen self but unlike my mom that doesn’t bother me. Well, maybe a little. I really don’t like when the teen checkers and baggers at the grocery store call me mam and ask if I need help with my bags. Although it is incredibly sweet of them it is also a raging insult to my ego (and my biceps). Truth be told our culture doesn’t make the aging process easy. An article I read had this to say “Aging is associated with unwelcome changes in physical appearance, increased dependency on others, and negative societal stereotypes. Thus, middle and old age are generally seen as period of decline in Western society, a problem with particular relevance for women due to Western society’s long history of placing value on physical appearance, youth, and thinness.” Well ain’t that a kick in the teeth. Maybe our loss of value is the reason we become irritable battle-axes. That and declining hormones too, which is a whole other discussion.
I observed Mom enter middle-age with the grace not of a fox but of a woodchuck heading into hibernation. She wanted desperately for her biological clock to keep on ticking. She lamented her physical changes and was constantly searching for that magic pill. She would look at my “peaches and cream” complexion with a mix of admiration and wistful envy. At the time my young self was incapable of understanding the angst she was experiencing. But I get it now. It’s no joke when you can’t control your changing body. I haven’t felt this disconnected since puberty. Fortunately, education and information are on my side. There may not be a magic pill but there is clean eating, exercise, and acceptance (which is the hardest of the three to practice). We can’t make time stand still and no amount of cosmetics can halt the aging process. All we can do is take care of the body in which we are currently living and try to remind ourselves that we are so much more than what people see.
However, even with all my enlightenment, I sometimes find myself even on the best of days acting the vixen (and not the sexy kind). I catch myself being short tempered, easily frustrated, and intolerant of stupidity. How’s that for a mom of a teenage boy and very chatty soon to be third grader? Now I can totally appreciate Mom’s position during her final years. Her crankiness wasn’t because she didn’t care; it was because she knew that there were bigger and more important things to worry about than whatever petty issue I was dealing with that day. She had been there and done that and she was going to have her opinions heard. Mom was still relevant because of her decades of life altering experiences that turned a sexy young thing into a wise mature woman. I currently find myself feeling like a fortune teller when I “predict” what will happen when my oldest procrastinates or when my daughter treats a friend a certain way. They think I’m being annoying. I know I am speaking from experience and trying to spare them any hardships. I want to impart on them some of the wisdom I’ve gained during my four plus decades on this Earth. One day they will look back just as I’m doing and say, “Mom was right”.
So here I am with all this new self awareness after wondering down a fox inspired rabbit hole. I’m left feeling pretty positive about where I’m at in life and definitely more appreciative of my mother. I wish I could have been more sympathetic towards her during her mid life crisis. And yes, it is a crisis when your identity changes. It took me getting to this age to understand how hard it is for a woman to feel invisible. Now it all makes sense why she was so insistent on my being smart, strong, and independent because she knew that youthful beauty was temporary. She knew that the qualities our society values most in women will eventually be lost to us. Again, those are words of wisdom wasted on the young because in our youth we never expect time to go by as fast as it does. I’m grateful that she at least tried. I’m also grateful to the gray vixen for being so persistent this summer and forcing me to explore this wondering.
I hope you enjoyed wondering along with me. I really enjoyed writing this. I’ll leave all you mid-lifers and beyond with these words of wisdom by Stacey Couch, author and spiritual director of Wild Gratitude:
Gray Fox Photos by Mehmet Buyukdag IG @ thirteennegatives
SHE WAS BEAUTIFUL….
…..but she didn’t know what that meant.
When she was a little girl
they told her she was beautiful
but it had no meaning
in her world of bicycles
and pigtails
and adventures in make-believe.
Later, she hoped she was beautiful
as boys started taking notice
of her friends
and phones rang for
Saturday night dates.
She felt beautiful on her wedding day,
hopeful with her
new life partner by her side
but, later,
when her children called
her beautiful,
she was often exhausted,
her hair messily tied back,
no make up,
wide in the waist
where it used to be narrow;
she just couldn't take it in.
Over the years, as she tried,
in fits and starts,
to look beautiful,
she found other things
to take priority,
like bills
and meals,
as she and her life partner
worked hard
to make a family,
to make ends meet,
to make children into adults,
to make a life.
Now,
she sat.
Alone.
Her children grown,
her partner flown,
and she couldn't remember
the last time
she was called beautiful.
But she was.
It was in every line on her face,
in the strength of her arthritic hands,
the ampleness that had
a million hugs imprinted
on its very skin,
and in the jiggly thighs and
thickened ankles
that had run her race for her.
She had lived her life with a loving
and generous heart,
had wrapped her arms
around so many to
to give them comfort and peace.
Her ears had
heard both terrible news
and lovely songs,
and her eyes
had brimmed with,
oh, so many tears,
they were now bright
even as they dimmed.
She had lived and she was.
And because she was,
she was made beautiful.
~ Suzanne Reynolds, © 2019