In Pursuit of Wonder

May 22, 2023

Two days ago, I visited the woods twice, once in the morning and then again in the evening, each time I noticed different things. Or rather I should say, I paid attention to different things. As I walked into the pasture, the dandelions distracted me first. I needed a really good photo of a field of dandelions for my children’s books. Yellow blossoms dappled the hillside. I should have been out a bit earlier in the morning for the best light but I decided to just go with it. I sauntered across the pasture, hoping to go unnoticed by the heifers – I really don’t understand why they run when they catch sight of me; it’s not a run of fear. I almost snuck past them, but a couple caught sight of me and let the others know of my presence. I prayed and hoped they wouldn’t wreck any fences. I tried to ignore them and pressed onward; ducking under a couple of fences, I finally made it to the safety of the woods. It is amazing how lush and green the woods are now. Nettles and wood anemone are several inches tall. The underbrush is an emerald blanket. The garlic mustard is flowering and no longer tasty. Though getting to the woods wasn’t my usual route, I more or less followed my path from previous hikes. Down the hill, over small gullies, over and on top of logs. I paused before stepping over a log with Dryad’s saddle mushrooms. Unfortunately, they weren’t tender, so I left them there. A tall Jack-in-the-pulpits posed for several photos. Mostly, the morning walk was just that, a bit of exercise. 

After evening milking, the weather was so fine and the late spring air called to me. Going into the house and settling in my basement dwelling didn’t sound appealing. I changed clothes and grabbed my camera, and then I was back outside. In the golden light of evening, I stopped to take in the beauty of the apple blossoms, dainty like a wedding ceremony. Moving on, out of the orchard, the young, soft pine cones of the eastern white pine stopped me. Another photo taken. Up the road and down into the pasture, I continued onward. A killdeer tried convincing me it had a broken wing; flapping around on the ground, dragging its wing, it kept up the antics for a while. A red-wing blackbird on the fence post vocalized and followed me, flying from fence post to fence post behind me. I chatted with him as I walked. In the woods, the lavender blossoms of creeping Charley plants buzzed with bumble bees. A couple of deer went crashing through the woods, I glimpsed their white tails as they disappeared. In the depths of the ravine darkness was setting in. It was just a short jaunt. 

This morning, I was back in the woods for a longer trek. I changed up my route a bit, staying in the pasture longer and walking along the edge of the woods, bypassing slow areas where the undergrowth is so thick it is challenging to see the logs and branches it hides. I crawled under the fence on my hands and knees near a grand oak tree. Standing up immediately on the other side was impossible, I had to crouch low under the spiked branches of buckthorn and also be careful not to trip on old wire. Soon though, I was able to stand up straight. I followed a game trail along the top of the slope, deciding not to go down into the ravine today. I wanted to go much further, along the contours of the bluff to come out on the other side of the farm. (I can lose myself for six hours this way just exploring and soaking up the healing powers of the woods and my camera, but that wasn’t an option today.) Solomon’s seal grew between pieces of bark. Ostrich ferns grow in abundance here. But it was the Jack-in-the-pulpits that stole the show. They appeal to me, perhaps because they are so different from other woodland plants. There were several patches of these plants throughout this area. 

Sticks crunched underfoot as I ambled along. My path took me down a couple of feet, using trees for support, to go around and below the outcroppings. Ferns and moss blanketed the exposed bedrock, slowly colonizing and creating soil. Fallen trees from above lean over the rocks. Magical. My words and camera can’t do it justice. I had observed coyote tracks along here in the snow. Now their passing goes unmarked. A month ago, I could see down and across the ravine but now leaves block the view. In the depths of winter it is easy to forget just how green it is in the spring and summer and how restorative that greenness is. I paused at the edge of a ravine slicing down the slope ahead of me. Nestled in a rotten log lay an animal skull, medium to small mammal. I see lots this size – raccoon, possum, coyote or fox maybe. I would have picked it up to bring home but my walk was just beginning and I didn’t want the burden of carrying it with me and not breaking it. I marked the spot in my mind and with my camera. I picked my way down into the ravine, recalling this is where I fell on my first snowshoe adventure. Luckily, I didn’t fall again. The banks of the other side was crumbly soil, and slipped a bit on the way up and out. Virginia waterleaf blooms appear fairylike. 

The trail leads down and up several small ravines, and sometimes it is a climb to stay towards the top of the bluff, especially as I turn westward. I scramble up the slope, losing momentum and breath. The soil must be different here. The base of the trees are more open and eastern white pines grow here, not many but a handful. Paper birches here and there, some aging. Hepatica and bloodroot like these slopes. The patterns on the Hepatica leaf, and its color and shape remind me of frogs. They weren’t blooming yet. The bluff here is high, perhaps 400 or more feet. The slopes plummet down into the valley, becoming increasingly more steep the further west I travel. A big ravine lays across my path, its sides are steep and the soil loose; I press onward with care. On the other side, the man-made logging trail stretched before me. Although man-made, this spot is so picturesque, the way the trees enclose it. Robert Frost would have written a beautiful poem. (I haven’t mastered poetry yet.) I came across what I think might be Jacob’s Ladder. Its purple white flowers were fairy cups, its green stem and leaves elegant. More white blossomed bloodroot push up above oak leaves. 

I leave the old logging trail behind to continue westward. Down, down, down, I go, nearly scooting on my backside so I don’t fall, over the edge of the bluff into a large ravine. Not exactly the quickest route but an adventurous one. Climbing up stone steps and over boulders, ducking under fallen trees and crawling over others, I stick to the ravine for a short distance and then scramble up the western slope to the old snowmobile trail, visiting the place where Jesse proposed. (Another snowshoeing story worth sharing sometime.) Purple violets bloom along the trail. The trees lean over the trail invitingly. I walk down the slope a bit, not too far though, coming back up is a workout. Turning around, I take the trail back up the bluff, enjoying the limestone rock slabs in a couple places; huge chunks of limestone rock just sitting there. Before the trail exited the woods, I deviated to my left, going back to the ravine. Picking my way gingerly down the slope across from an old limestone foundation. I am amazed someone lived here, long ago. I walk up to the foundation and run my fingers across the cool stone. The garlic mustard is incredibly thick. I waded through it down into the ravine which I followed to the fence line. Crawling under the fence, I said goodbye to the woods for now. I still had a twenty minute trek back to the house, through the pasture with beef cows assessing me, a short distance in the field and then up onto the farm road. (My walk had been serenaded by birds and squirrels.)

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