I'm Major Jackson and this is the Slow Down.

I am utterly addicted to my home security camera in the mountains and Vermont.

Every morning, I check notifications and watch new videos.

I'm less interested in catching an intruder.

I look to discover nocturnal wildlife that roamed the surrounding forest while I slept.

My video feed features rafters of wild turkey, eastern coyotes, a weasel, and of course,

the ever-present white-tailed deer.

Once, a video of a wood-shock lumbering out of its winter burrow to gather food.

Another time, a purple finch, or was it a chickadee, hovered in front of the camera and flashed

its plumage.

When I replayed the video back in slow motion on my phone, its beating wings revealed

a complex skeletal system.

Features, they skulk, they stalk, they skitter, they lumber.

They all stop for a second and look.

Their eyes hilariously reflecting and emitting the camera's light, like the boy at the

end of the classic video from Bonnie Tyler's total eclipse of the heart, then resume on

their way.

No video footage yet of a moose, which remains elusive, despite nearby tracks in the snow.

Once, a brown bear ambled over to a trash shed, it ripped the door, then gleefully turned

upside down a week's worth of food scraps in a kitchen bag.

Although the damage to the shed was visible and cost to repair, I enjoyed getting a glimpse

of the bear, like the other animals, making do, scavenging, cruising the woods.

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