PHOTOGRAPH COURTESY ANNA TRAVERSE
Did I ever tell you about the time Tia decided the buffalo needed herding?
We were at Shelby Farms one morning, close to Christmas. I was maybe 5 or 6, so this was 1990(ish), and Tia was in her prime — 85 pounds of German shepherd magnificence bounding through tall grass. You’ve seen the buffalo at Shelby Farms, right? A dozen or so fluffy-headed, bearded giants roam the native grasslands and seem to sway as they amble along. But they’re lightning-fast when they want to be, and can be treacherous when provoked.
Which is to say, do not try to recreate the scene I am describing!
You see, Tia — again, a herding dog in her prime — decided that these buffalo needed, well, herding. She managed to slip away from her human pack (she was always trying to herd us, too, truth be told) and breach the fence surrounding the buffaloes’ territory. The next thing my parents and I knew, Tia was circling the enormous, wall-eyed creatures, nipping the air, working on corralling the pack. Doing her job.
The trouble was, she definitely, absolutely was not supposed to be running among the buffalo. And so my dad — who had a bit of a Han Solo-in-jeans vibe, and anyone who knew him for five minutes will back me up on this — followed Tia into the enclosure, convinced her to quit her brand-new job, managed not to get trampled himself in the process, and generally saved the day.
When I explore the Old Forest, though, or make time to appreciate the roses in bloom at the Botanic Garden, or stroll through the hush of an art gallery, or commune with the four-legged animals in the house … time dilates. Those moments expand, and form an imprint deep down, and last.
I do not endorse anyone allowing their family dog into the Shelby Farms buffalo area! I most certainly do not encourage you to go sprinting into the buffalo area yourself in pursuit of your over-zealous herding dog! (Got that, legal folks?)
That memory will never depart my mind. And it will never fail to make me smile (helps that everything turned out perfectly fine — no gorings).
Which is why I’m telling you about this odd, long-ago memory now: because don’t we all want more moments when time slows? May, already? The year almost halfway gone? I don’t understand it. A few months ago, or so it seems, the trees were heavy with ice; now my eyes are itchy from the oak pollen that drifts to earth in menacing ochre tumbleweeds.
When I explore the Old Forest, though, or make time to appreciate the roses in bloom at the Botanic Garden, or stroll through the hush of an art gallery, or commune with the four-legged animals in the house … time dilates. Those moments expand, and form an imprint deep down, and last.
In this issue, we offer you a variety of ideas for close-to-home adventures to embark upon — no special occasion needed, just a little mild temporal distortion to sustain you. We don’t recommend approaching the buffalo (okay, yes, they are technically bison), but one of my colleagues did clamber onto a horse at Shelby Farms, while another crouched into a canoe to explore the Wolf River.
This is also the time of year when we remind you that we are a little weird by inviting our animal friends to contribute stories to this magazine. Yes, thanks for noticing, this is becoming a bit of an ongoing theme around Memphis Magazine, which has now published first-person essays by four-legged friends. (Sorry. “First-person” was species-ist.) If running semi-regular essays penned by dogs and cats isn’t the hallmark of a Pulitzer-worthy publication, I simply do not want to hear it.
So find an afternoon, or a whole weekend, and explore some facet of Memphis you’ve really been meaning to check out for who knows how long. Bring your favorite person, and if at all possible, your favorite dog. Try not to get stampeded by any buffalo. The year may be flying, but we can hold onto the days.
