There are times when the natural world offers up something so unexpected that I find myself wondering why we humans go to such lengths to invent the extraordinary.

Once, hiking on Vancouver Island, I encountered a mountain lion. A creature I had never imagined I would see in the wild, suddenly there, sharing the same piece of earth with me.

Another morning, here on Hawaiʻi Island, I looked out the window to discover wild pigs enthusiastically dismantling our garden. Freshly planted papayas, shrubs, small trees—all apparently placed there for their personal amusement.

They returned three nights in a row.

I assure you, the wonder had worn considerably thin by the third morning.

A new fence and gate have since discouraged further visits, for which I am profoundly grateful.

And then there was the morning I walked down to the ocean and noticed something turning over and over in the water. From a distance, it looked like a giant aluminum can catching the sunlight.

I remembered Chris and me, years ago, lying on our sides and rolling down a grassy hill on a golf course, surrendering ourselves to gravity and the sheer silliness of it.

Whatever was out there seemed to be enjoying itself just as thoroughly.

As I watched, the glinting shapes resolved into dolphins. An entire pod, rolling and tumbling through the water, closer than I had ever imagined seeing them.

And that brings me, somewhat inexplicably, to Sasquatch.

Why do people dress up as creatures they’re unlikely ever to encounter? Is it precisely the improbability that makes them appealing? The delicious possibility of something outlandish, safely contained within a costume?

I don’t know.

But I do wonder whether, in our fascination with the improbable, we sometimes overlook the astonishing things that are actually here.

A mountain lion on a wooded trail.

A family of pigs making short work of a garden.

Dolphins tumbling through the morning sea.

No costume necessary.

And absolutely no guarantee of what might happen next.