In Pursuit of Wonder

April 25, 2023

It seems like the weather is taking a little longer to warm up again after the snowfall on the 16th. Although the snow is now mostly gone, only lingering in shaded areas, frost crystals clung to the plants this morning as I set out on my walk along the pasture lane toward the woods. Beneath the cluster of walnut trees, I pushed the barbed wire fence down and stepped over. Once again, the skull stopped me. Probably a deer skull. It rested upside down. I knelt down to take a look at its surprisingly pearly white teeth. Fascinating. (My husband, Jesse, knows me so well; he bought an animal skull book for me. – I just haven’t had a chance to read and use it yet.) The blackberry leaves were fully out now, but provided no protection from the bramble thorns. I had to weave my way through them, finding the less dense areas, around the feet of the walnut trees. Over fallen branches and a rotten log, down into the small gully and up the other side again. Gooseberry and blackberry leaves were like a green flame lighting the woods, set ablaze further by the morning sunshine. Mosses that have been trying to grow for weeks were glazed with frost. 

I stepped over a fallen tree and continued further into the woods, being scolded by a tiny red squirrel – I call it Charlie. (We see each other often.) Tufts of emerald grass or sedge stick up above the carpet of dead leaves. Roundish garlic mustard leaves are growing quite nicely; soon I will be able to harvest them. I halted, knelt down and soaked in the appearance of a particular moss – it reminded me of a conifer tree. I wish I knew its name and value to the ecosystem. It seems the woods are becoming greener every time I venture out. Seeing spring in action is so satisfying and uplifting. The worst thing about the snow being gone is there was no longer hiding the amount of trash in the woods, mainly old tires, metal and vehicles – I find it so appalling. I would love to have it all removed but it occurred to me that now it may cause more damage to remove it than just leaving it. Nature’s debris however was a delight, logs in various states of decay, being devoured by moss, branches here and there, and brown leaves. I am always amazed at how palpable the feeling of relief and healing fills me after only a few minutes of wandering into the woods. I glanced up at the rocky turrets far above, on the western slope; I will explore up there again another day. 

I continued further in and down the valley between the bluffs, stopping often to relish the little things – moss, leaves, frost, and chattering squirrels. I paused to look at a black, gnarly growth on a tree, wondering if it is chaga, although as high up as it is it really wouldn’t matter to me if it was or not since there’d be no way for me to reach it. I knelt down. Ferns were starting, it looked like a nest filled with brown and green eggs. – Wait, is that where they get their name of ostrich fern from? I don’t think I have ever observed ferns this early in their yearly growth cycle. Onward, I paused again to delight in a cluster of large, moss encrusted, limestone boulders, trolls just waiting to wake up. The woods are so enchanting. Green blossoms on a tree dangle down decoratively. Water covers the bottom of the temporary stream, rocks are scattered here and there, giving the appearance of a mountain brook. Again, moss stops me in my tracks, a miniature forest at my feet. I always try to tread very lightly on moss whenever I can’t avoid stepping on it. Gray and brown still dominate the woods but green is slowly spreading. I reveled in leaves just beginning to unfurl, especially in the morning glow. 

Over the spring stream, stepping on rocks to keep my feet dry, ambling up the muddy bank on the other side, I continued my explorations. Stepping over fallen trees, climbing up the hill a little, I approached a fallen tree spanning the waterway. How delightful, a bridge. Ever since I was a small child, I have walked across any fallen tree acting like a bridge that I possibly can – to the chagrin of my husband on at least one occasion. But I have never been careless about it. Sometimes I crawl, sometimes I scoot across with arms and legs wrapped around the tree. The view from my bridge is quite splendid. Getting down on the other side took some care, but holding onto another tree, I managed just fine. I ducked under low hanging branches, stepped onto a wobbly log and then onto the ground. I paused momentarily to consider my options, which way did I want to go? Up the hill I scrambled, bathed in morning sunshine. Leaves crunched under my feet. Snowshoeing is fun but this is equally as delightful. The hill is steep and soon my breathing becomes labored as I continue to climb. Always weaving around branches, stepping over logs, I walked on top of a log for its entire length, no longer climbing the hill but walking parallel to it. Nearing the end, I pause, about to push a branch of an overhanging tree out of my way, its leaves are fully out and it has mauve tight little berries like black caps but this must be a flower not a berry. I wonder what species of tree this is? I step down from the log. I encountered another, much larger, full grown tree with distinctive grooves in its bark. I see this tree all over the place and find its bark to be the most interesting bark pattern but can’t identify it. 

I walked several paces onward. To my left was a ravine with an island in the middle, cutting down from the top of the slope. I spied an orangish red cap mushroom, either orange peel fungus or stalked scarlet cap, near a fallen birch tree. I ambled up the slope, breathing heavily. Just taking in the woods. I noticed more gooseberry plants. I climbed the hill somewhat diagonally. It’s so peaceful here. I touched several tree trunks as I passed, enjoying their texture and absorbing strength and comfort from them; like dear friends. I approached another ravine gashing the bluff. I drew to the edge of it, and peered down. It was deep. Lots of fallen trees and logs lay at the bottom and along the banks of the ravine. I eased down the hill alongside the ravine. I arrived at a mystical spot. The ravine slicing between the two bluffs now came cascading down layers of exposed bedrock. When there’s water trickling over it, I pretend it’s a waterfall. I crouch down to change my perspective, to aid the illusion of a waterfall. Sometime, I will walk back in the ravine the whole way. My eyes shifted to the dirt, near a log, drawn by a patch of orange – more mushrooms. I took a moment to enjoy their cheery color. 

Standing, I ambled back up the steep slope. I weaved around trees, parallel to the slope, as I headed back the way I came. Down the slope again, I paused at a fallen tree, covered in moss and a papery, white, ruffle like mushroom – turkey tail or maybe smoky polypore. I have a lot more reading and studying to do. A fungus on another log, not a mushroom but a white blab, perhaps crust fungi. Over the tree bridge, crossed the waterway again, ducking under a tree limb, back on the valley floor, I paused to lean down to take a closer look at a small, green plant, like a closed umbrella. What were they? Soon I was leaving the woods behind and back in the pasture lane.

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