The cabin door bangs shut as I make my way onto nature’s stage with a jump that would impress Charles Barkley of the Philadelphia 76ers. It’s a brisk November morning and the ground underfoot licks at my Timberland hiking-boots like a bunch of hungry cats.

The mid-calf high grass covered with dew seems soaking wet. There’s also a dirt road that winds around the property and then the woods begin and stretch for miles. The air smells fresh with a trace of wildflowers whose scent is amazing! It’s a pure and satisfying smell that tells me I’m alive; alive and free and ready for adventure.

I stride purposefully toward the pond with my two weapons of choice. They are a well-used rod-and-reel and a black tackle box. The pole came from some other fruit on the family tree but the box is durable hard plastic and semi-new. I recently transferred my plastic-worms, hooks, sinkers and other stuff into it from a decaying and very ordinary yellow relic of a carrier. I’m happy I made the switch.

Just ahead is a teardrop-shaped pond with exactly, eighteen Maple trees that overhang and encircle the entire thing. About an acre in size, it’s the main feature of the area.

Our cabin behind me is made of smooth planks of white pine but the staircase rails are rough and unfinished so you have to hold them lightly. Otherwise it’s Splinter City. It’s easily done with a little practice though.

Birds are flying around carrying grubs and such in their beaks, going from ground to nest with the speed of missiles.

I can hear chirps from finches and cardinals that are hiding somewhere nearby. Uncle Bob told me that those two are related; a cardinal is also called a crested finch. Who knew?

In a tall oak beside our cabin there is a nest with a momma-bird and her two babies that sing a satisfied song, evidently from the morning’s catch. How downright happy is their chirping!

The Maple trees around the pond shed leaves as they blow in the breeze, littering its surface with artistic irregularity. Airborne leaves of bright red, lemon yellow, and orange are sensational. They smolder in my minds-eye like colorful charcoal made of Nerf-footballs.

Nature looks extremely bright behind my special sunglasses: bright-green grass, intense blue sky and fiery-red leaves. Joining them are leaves as orange as carrots, and lemon-yellow ones too. The sun is a bright yellow ball that oversees everything.

A North wind blows through the trees across the road, making the forest seem to whisper its welcome to me. The only other sound is a fish jumping and splashing down at the pond. It’s so quiet I can hear it from here. Even better, I can hear myself think.

The splashing is probably a Cutthroat-Trout just waiting for me to begin fishing; waiting to play hide-&-seek with its friends around the hook or nibble at the bait without getting caught.

Naaah, they’re smart but not that smart. They like to live dangerously though, which is good for me: their brain-power is just high enough to make the art of fishing a challenging cat and mouse game of skill and patience.

It’s only ten a.m. on Monday and I have a whole week ahead of me to explore!