Day of the Wolves

When Spring is almost here but not quite, when you can go outdoors without your winter coat but you still need a jacket, when the sun shines bravely but giving weak warmth, when tiny, bright clouds like toy sailboats fly through the ocean overhead, I'm reminded of a special day when I was a toddler.

We lived In Ford Ord, which was near Monterey, California. Mom, in her pinafore, was hanging out laundry behind our quarters. I, in my pinafore, was sitting on a tricycle, watching.

(You do remember what a pinafore was, don't you?)

From over in some far hills was coming a sound like growling. Mom had already mentioned to me that wolves lived in those hills, so I asked her if that’s what the sounds were. “Oh, no,” she said. “Those are bulldozers.”

I decided, however, that it was definitely wolves growling. And this evidence of distant but real danger added a certain tang to the day I’ve never forgotten, that thrills me even now, on days like that one, like this one.