Living Like Weasels is about someone who frequents a natural area near some suburbs and has a moment of clarity when they startle and are startled by a weasel. The experience seems almost spiritual for the narrator. The two of then lock eyes for what seems like eternity, and the narrator describes it almost as a mind meld or mind swap, where they were exploring each others minds and everything else falls away. I like how she uses this unique experience to explore a topic that, at least for me, is not an uncommon thought. The thought of living wild as a human, the idea that there is a certain dignity and freedom that comes with living only for survival. I felt like the description of what happened when they locked eyes was a little overly dramatic. She describes the world around them falling away, dismantling itself, and falling into the small black eyes of the weasel. I understand that it was a cool experience, but it's just a weasel, and as gnarly as weasels are I still don't think they merit such a dramatic experience.
The descriptions of nature are beautiful, and show the author's obvious love for it. This description is particularly vivid, and puts a clear image in one's mind:
"it covers two acres of bottomland near Tinker Creek with six inches of water and six thousand lily pads. In
winter, brown-and-white steers stand in the middle of it, merely dampening their hooves; from the distant shore they look like miracle itself, complete with miracle's nonchalance. Now, in summer, the steers are gone. The water lilies have blossomed and spread to a green horizontal plane that is terra firma to plodding blackbirds, and tremulous ceiling to black leeches, crayfish, and carp."
Weasels are f#$@ing gnarly