In Pursuit of Wonder

February 7, 2025

Yesterday, having crossed the top of the hill, meandering to the left to enter into a different paddock and ambled downhill and passing into the farthest pasture, I pondered a new route into and through the woods, wanting to share it with my niece Leah, but the brambles were so thick at the beginning and my previous route this winter continued far into the woods. I scouted for a trail that would take us through the least amount of brambles, scanning the western fence line. Although Leah would be a good sport about it, I did not want her to have to wade through the grasping thorns of wild blackcap berries. Each of the trails through the brambles are narrow, the thorns pierce through nearly every type of clothing leaving small, sometimes itchy scratches on the skin. Just before the fence line veers right, to the east, near a deer stand perched in a tree, I duck under the barbed wire fence, skirt the ladder’s legs and the tree holding the deer stand. Only a few bramble vines clutch at me as I pass, but nothing compared to my previous trail. — Yes, this will do. 

The temperature was around thirty degrees, which made it challenging to dress correctly. I had not looked at the time when Leah and I finally left the house for our hike but it was probably around 3:30 pm. The length of our outing would be determined by the sunset. 

Jesse asked, “What time will you be back?” 

“We should be back around 6,” I replied, calculating this time based on my pace traversing that part of the woods. I figured we could linger in the woods to nearly sundown if we wrapped around our north facing bluff and up along another on the west central part of the farm. From there we would have an easy route through the pasture and along our dead end road that could be done in the dark with the aid of a head lamp. 

It had snowed recently, just barely a light dusting, now and then my footprints from yesterday could be discerned. We observed deer, rabbit, and coyote tracks in the pasture and later in the woods. We talked about various things as we traversed the pasture. As we climbed the hill in the last paddock, I said, “Now, let’s see, I need to find where I went in yesterday to avoid the majority of the brambles.” I led Leah past the spot at first, backtracking, I added, “I think this is where I went in.”

“Well you can easily remember this, just remember it’s at the deer stand.” 

“Yeah, that will be easy to remember in the future.”

 We skirted around the deer stand and its tree, I assured Leah that the brambles would thin even more, and that this was truly the least brambly spot to enter these woods. She tolerated the fierce thorns with good humor. Immediately on the other side of the tree, we began our descent, slow and deliberate. Directly ahead, a few feet down the slope, was a rock ledge, although not high above the ground below it, maybe three feet or so, we had to negotiate around it, and down the hill, simultaneously having to duck under low, stooping branches. Whenever we hike together, I become very conscious of the height and size difference between Leah and I. Being short, tiny, and quite nimble, I have to put more thought into my path so that Leah can follow without too much trouble. Farther down the slope, we stepped over a fallen tree, then followed a deer path winding through the shallow valley between the hills, which became deeper and wider the longer we walked northward, and downhill. (I often stir up a few white-tail deer as I traverse these woods, but today we were talking too much for the creatures to be moving. Throughout my walks this winter, I have heard crows, bluejays and once a cardinal.) 

We crossed a couple of small gullies, roughly four to five feet across, and stepped over and around several fallen branches and logs. On our right, the gully meanders like a mountain streambed, widening and deep at times, narrowing and shallow. Having forded the gully, we veered right, up the bluff slope negotiating around waist high bushes, and rotten fallen trees and limbs. The slope was steep, toward the top we stormed the stone palisades, roughly four feet high, adorned with black sandy loam and dormant muted-green moss. Past a sentry of buckthorn, the top is open. Stones lay strewn about as if a giant had scattered them playing marbles, some mostly buried with only their mossy tops exposed. Cedar trees threatened to poke us with their long, slender fingers if we drew too close. I hadn’t meant to climb up so soon with Leah, intending to wait until we had passed this patch of buckthorn and cedars, oh well.  We lingered for a few moments, catching our breath and taking in the woods. 

Crouching through the buckthorn thicket, thorns clattered against our coats and grasped at us, as we ambled down a gradual slope. “Look at that blackened maple, it must have been hit by lightning!” I pointed out. Leading the way, I weaved and zigzagged through the trees – being mindful of the size difference between us. Noses dripped though we felt warm, and our throats were dry from talking. Several times, we stepped over or around fallen branches as we made our way down a gentle slope, and arrived at a gully, roughly sixteen feet at its widest. Awed, we paused to take in the textured ice sheet which filled the gully to the brim. (The ice made its depth impossible to gauge.)The glacier cascaded down the gully in terraces. But where did the ice come from? We’ve had very little rain or snow all winter.

“Wow, the ice is so pretty!” Leah gushed. 

“Yes, it is! I have tried to capture the beauty in photos.” Tracks decorated the gentle brushing of snow. “What made these tracks do you suppose? I can’t quite make them out. Cat or maybe a fox?”

“I am not sure. They almost look like fox tracks. It would be cool if they were!” 

“It would be awesome! I wish they were made by a fox!” I stepped up onto and traipsed across a fallen tree bridging the gully, making Leah nervous, and proceeded up a modest but steep slope scattered with moss covered rocks. 

“I am not walking on the tree.” 

“I wasn’t expecting you to, but I can’t resist doing so.” 

Leah walked mindfully alongside, but despite her care she slipped and fell just before her last step on the ice. We laughed. She lay there for a few minutes collecting herself. “I was almost off the ice. I was being so careful and I still fell,” she laughed at herself. “Your tree bridge is really rotten at this end.” 

“Yeah, but I didn’t step on it there and it’s not over the gully. So it’s ok.” 

“Ok, I have to get up. But how? It’s so slippery!” 

“I would help you but I am not sure I can. Maybe grab onto the tree? At least it’s the only washout we have to cross,” I encouraged. 

“That’s good!” She struggled to her feet, and ambled up the small incline of the bank. I pointed to a pile of scat, “A large buck traveled through here.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Look at that beautiful wild grape vine,” I said, ducking under its slender weave.   

“Pretty.” 

We stepped over a rusty barbed wire fence, which had long since fallen into disrepair – the ground had begun to engulf some of it. We passed black cherry trees, reveling in their textured bark. I strolled up the gentle incline along the top of a log that had begun its transformation into the humus it rested upon. The slope steepened, as we continued to thread between trees, following a deer trail. Suddenly the climb became more arduous toward the top, we stumbled over medium-sized stones, and up the escarpment of exposed rock. Shrubs grew scattered here and there but otherwise the understory was fairly open. Deviating to the left, stepping over fallen logs, we approached the edge of the outcropping, and walked alongside it. I tottered over a pile of unstable boulders, drawing nearer to the rounded rock balcony. Pointing northward along the precipice, I said, “Look, that tree grew into the rock!” 

“Woa, cool!” Leah only came close enough to have a look at the tree, remaining at a safer distance from the edge. (Although the dropoff may be less than ten feet, falling would hurt, and could easily mean a broken bone.) 

“I have tried many times to take an excellent photo of it but I am not sure I have captured it well.” 

“Hmm.” (Leah probably has more faith in my photography skills than I do.) 

Proceeding, we skirted around grasping buckthorn, ducked under a horizontally growing boxelder, anchored in the bluffside below the rocks, and ambled over a log, a few feet off the ground, serving as a raccoon latrine. “It’s rude that raccoons poop on logs like this – makes them less fun and safe for me to climb on.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Raccoon feces are apparently quite toxic to humans,” I continued to explain. “I am very careful not to touch it.” Picking our way down the slope, I instructed, “Careful, this is slick and steep.” We maneuvered between trees, grabbing a hold of them to keep from tumbling down. Farther along the trail, we crouched under a fallen tree, leaning off a limestone outcropping, and squeezed through an opening in the trees. Stooping under a branch, we began to climb up roughly three feet onto a moss blanketed outcrop. Some stones have the appearance of sitting upright. 

We scrambled up another somewhat rocky incline. We continued trekking, meandering through the trees, which we reveled in. I paused to photograph a fallen tree whose nude branches, stripped of bark, twisted and curved, flowing through the air like unkept curly tresses of hair. “I have a thing for texture,” I explained. “Mom, Grandma, says what makes my photography good is that I see things other people don’t or see them in a different way. I also like to take photos from unexpected aspects that lean toward the abstract, or changes your perspective so you have to ponder and wonder for a moment what you are looking at.” 

“Hmm.”

The rocky turret at the top appeared to be a rubble mess of stones, upon which an old metal folding chair perched, its legs wedged securely between rocks, ready to be used. It overlooks the valley between the bluffs – makeshift deer stand? “Look at the chair!” 

“What?! That’s hilarious! I wonder if someone brought it out here as a deer stand?” Leah laughed at the oddity. 

“Perhaps. It is surprisingly stable. And has a good view of the valley below. I was surprised and bewildered when I first stumbled upon it.” 

“So weird.” 

“Yeah.” Rust coated the snow padded chair; in my opinion, enhancing the color of it.  I first saw it from below, luring me up the modest cliff to investigate that I was truly seeing a metal folding chair set up in the middle of the woods. I sat upon it at that first sighting.

Trekking onward, we descended a slippery slope. My feet slipped a bit on the steep deer trail. Leah went to the right side of the tree, where it was less steep, and proceeded down while clinging to the tree. “Ah, a gooseberry is violating me!” she hollered, laughing, as she rounded the tree. Below the cliff, we paused to take in a log covered in turkey tails, before carefully stepping over. 

We drew near to a small ravine. “You said there wouldn’t be any more ravines.”

“Sorry, I forgot about this one. I haven’t walked across this log with my camera before.” 

“Let me take your camera at least, so you have better balance. And to keep it safe. Although, I am more worried about you than the camera. But I know you are more worried about the camera.”

I laughed, “Yeah, that’s true.” 

“No wonder Grandma worries about you hiking in the woods alone.” 

“I am fine. I’m careful. Also, nothing happens to me because I am everyone else’s back up – if something happens to them, injury, illness, surgery, I cover for them.” Balancing on top of my tree bridge, the bottom of the washout lay perhaps six feet or more below me. Just on the other side, still on the tree, I skirted around a dead snag. 

“There’s mushrooms on that tree.” Most likely remnants of oysters or dryad’s saddle. 

“Hmm, really? I hadn’t noticed them,” I replied, pushing past scraggly buckthorn. The bridge bounced as I walked. Leah trailed slightly behind, down into the ravine and up the other side, treading lightly on the ice. She cradled my camera. Still a couple feet off the ground, I hopped down. 

A pile of dead trees lay to our left, a tangled mess we avoided. Other logs nearer at hand hosted myriads of turkey tails, beautiful Victorian hand fans. We chatted about medicinal properties of plants and fungi – the beautiful design and provision of nature. A big, elegant cottonwood tree nearly takes my breath away every time I see it. I wonder how it came to be growing here among the elms and oaks? I strolled along a decaying log. Leah walked alongside the log, but still behind me. Buckthorn and prickly ash grabbed at us. Another, taller, stone rampart ran across our path. Awesome. I love the austere beauty and mild adventure it provides. Small trees crowd in on the slope. A wild grape vine weaves into the trees. I scrambled up where there are tree roots to grasp, and squeezed between two trees at the top, momentarily forgetting Leah would not be able to fit. She climbed up a slightly different route. We hiked along the rock edge, admiring the trees growing on the slope below but whose tops still tower above us – mainly oaks. Ducking through small trees, buckthorn and prickly ash, we avoided a pile of dead tree debris, though we still had to step over several logs.

I led the way down a slight incline, walking on a mossy log. A sugar maple loomed tall above us. I paused to take in a barkless tree, even dead and nude, the tree was alluring. Fungi dotted another tree. Logs of various sizes continued to litter the well defined path. Small buckthorns grasped at us. We observed what we hoped to be fox tracks – I need to study up on animal tracks and other signs. 

A princely oak perched on the edge of a small washout; its roots extend five or six feet across the gully, like reaching fingers. “Oops, one more ravine. There’s no ice though and it’s narrow and shallow.” 

“Good.” Oaks and elms grow on either side. We step gingerly over another turkey tail log, frosted with a thin layer of snow. We amble around more exposed rock, big boulders just sitting there, resting among the oak. 

The deer trail quickly led to yet another small gully – beautiful the way trees crowd it. “Okay, I promise this is the last small ravine we will cross. I know, I was wrong before but this is for sure the last.” 

Leah responded good humorly, “It better be!” This wash evokes whimsical feelings that I cannot explain, fairylike. Beautiful dead trees downhill are pillars standing guard. Just a few steps through the snowy, damp dirt, and we were across. Up a slight, rocky slope, we observed random corncobs. Presumably carried into the woods by foraging raccoons. The trail led through thick brush. I stepped over a log above my knees. We followed along the bluff edge, past a dead barkless tree. Well defined trail through scrubby buckthorn and prickly ash. Another  big beautiful Oak. We ducked under a couple of fallen, leaning trees. Winding through more scrubby brush – probably some gooseberry bushes mingled with the thorny, small trees, stepping over logs, branches, and being careful not to stumble over stones.

Our trail curved westward to a rocky ridge. Another pile of tree debris. Maples and paper birch joined the ranks of oak and elm. Skeletal limbs of paper birch littered the moss-blanketed limestone. We picked our way down a steep, slippery slope, clinging to trees as much as possible. Part way down we paused. “Look at the mushrooms on those paper birch logs behind you!” Leah exclaimed.  I turned to take a look at the polypores and a frilly fungi colonizing the log, powdered with snow.

 At the bottom of the bluff, in the valley, we came to a rocky ravine. “Cool!” 

“Yeah, I love it other than it is so close to the road and was most likely formed by poor land management. I like to pretend it is a stream.” We approached a big tree on the edge, part of it had broken away sometime ago and now spans the ravine, shallow below it. “Now you don’t have to worry about me crossing this tree.” 

“No, not this tree, but I am still not walking on it.” 

“I didn’t think you would.” A hole gapped where the tree had separated.  – It stirred thoughts from decades ago when my cousin and I took refuge from strong, howling winter winds in a hole in a sliver maple. Something primal and lovely about needing shelter from nature; we still depend upon it.

 Huge rocks and small pebbles covered the floor of this washout running through the bottom of the ravine. An ice sheet advanced down the stepping stones, a frozen, ephemeral stream. Every time I visit this ravine, I wish this was a natural, year-round stream. I find it beautiful and peaceful, and yet it pains me that more than likely it was created by the rape and plunder of the land above by humans. When will we learn? There have been many lessons throughout history to teach us the catastrophic consequences of abusing the land community rather than lovingly stewarding it. We have the knowledge to do better: to restore soil health and fertility, to prevent erosion, how to use the land community in a way that does the least harm, to build up biodiversity even while going about our daily, extractive lives. The unfortunate truth is that since humans cannot photosynthesize, we must kill something, whether it is plant, animal, or fungi. However, we can be more compassionate and less destructive while we do so. (Without resorting to lab-created foods. Creating an artificial world to live in has been discussed for several decades as the looming global crisis builds, but I don’t believe that is the answer. An artificial world would be devastating to our psyche and, I think, individual freedoms would shrink.) 

  Thankfully, even though we are close to the road here, it sits far above us and therefore its noise is less than if we were level with it, and we could not see it very well which helped in our attempts to ignore it. In addition to the hillside the trees aid in providing a barrier between us and the road. I enjoyed the gnarled, and reaching tree roots along the waterway, like the hands of a hardworking grandmother stretched out to hold onto all she holds dear. I find tree roots aesthetically pleasing. I relished the smooth, flat limestone steps. We trekked on the stoney path, stepping over a fallen log, which was too rotten to walk on, otherwise I would have. Beautiful stone steps down – if only this had not been created by poor land use practices. (Although, I do not know for certain it was man-caused, it seems likely since there is no stream running over it. An old motorola cell phone lay among the pebbles. 

Leah commented, “Wow, that’s an old phone.” I smiled thinking how not too long ago, I would have marveled at the newness of that phone. 

“Yeah, it’s frustrating how much litter and other trash is in these woods. Sadly, even in these modern times, some people still think it is okay to dump their trash in ditches and big ravines. Out of sight out of mind to them. I find it very upsetting that there are still so many people who have a blatant disregard for the non-human community. Well, littering does negatively impact humans too.” 

I eased down the smooth stone steps, Leah followed close behind. We halted at a slight several foot drop. I led us around large moss blanketed boulders, stepped over a fallen mossy log, down onto a boulder half a foot or so below. Leah went around a tree embracing the edge of the washout, choosing a more gentle approach to the ground below. We ambled down two more “levels” before reaching the “bottom” of the ravine. Plant debris, logs, branches, and leaves washed down and piled, packed with dirt, creating a dam. Ducking under a fallen tree, we skirted around it. On the other side, the ephemeral stream narrowed to only a few feet across, and if it had water, would have been even more shallow. Dusted with snow, a grassy, flat area, its edges rounded by the water, lay between the waterway and the road embankment. 

“A stage, how lovely!” Leah cried in excitement, “But with limited seating,” she added. 

“Well that just means the price of admission will have to be high,” I laughed. 

Playing it up, she walked onto it and asked in a British accent, “What play shall we perform?”

Laughing, I replied, “I am not sure.” 

Moving on, we marveled at the stone wall of the ravine, the bluff towering above. Layers of limestone, laid down by tiny sea creatures and their bodies, long long ago, over millions upon millions of years, now colonized by plants. The dead vegetation cascaded down the exposed bedrock. We rounded the stone wall, following our pretend stream which was still choked with tree debris, arriving at the huge, metal culvert. “Woa, that’s kind of cool!” Leah exclaimed. 

“Yeah, it’s bigger than it looks. Jesse and I have walked in it to the other side. Well not this one but another one.” Leah walked over to the culvert and climbed in. “I am going to take a picture of you. With you inside there’s a scale, providing an idea of how big it is.” I snapped a photo despite the poor photography conditions. “I was thinking we would go up the bluff from here, well not exactly here since climbing up this rock without safety gear may not be wise, though I really want to, we could back track or climb up right by the culvert here. Do you want to go up the bluff or through the culvert?” I asked. 

“Let’s go through the culvert, if it’s okay.” 

“Yes, it is fine. As I said, Jesse and I have gone through them before.” 

“Althiugh, what if there is something living in there?” 

“I don’t think there is. We can essentially see to the other side. But a light would be good.” I pulled out a headlamp and situated it, then with the tunnel lit, I led the way. The metal tube is corrugated, our feet balanced on ridges. It felt strange and was more difficult to walk than the uneven natural ground of the woods. Ice pooled in between the narrowly spaced ridges. How had it gotten in here? There was hardly any snow nor rain this winter and the culvert sits a couple feet above the waterway. 

Our voices bounced off the metal walls, fascinating Leah. “This would be an awesome place to sing!” She exclaimed. 

“Go for it!” 

“But what should I sing?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Leah sang a beautiful tune in a foreign language, something majestic enough for the setting. 

“It reminds me of a cathedral!” I marveled. 

“Does it sound okay?” 

“Yes, beautiful.” 

“You should go outside of the tunnel and see how it sounds from out there.” 

“Okay.” I proceeded to the tunnel entrance, pausing before exiting. This end was even farther off the ground, perhaps five feet. I sat down and stretched out to a nearby rock, and climbed onto and down it. Leah stood in the tunnel entrance and began to sing again. Heaven had come down to earth. In any setting her voice is incredible, but the metal culvert lent a Gregorian monk/ celtic aspect to the song, which blew me away. I reveled in her beauty, a little envious I cannot sing like that, especially since I dearly love to sing but am too often self-conscious about doing so. She not only has a beautiful voice but she remembers the song lyrics, key, and notes perfectly. 

She stopped singing. “How was that?” 

“Beautiful! It reminded me of being in a cathedral!” 

“Well thank you!” She began the process of exiting the tunnel. 

“Careful, it’s a bit tricky getting down.” Although she is several inches taller than me, I am more agile, so it is hard to say who had the more difficult time getting out and down out of the culvert. I waited until she was safely out before proceeding. I looked about us, momentarily confused. 

“Hmm, I forgot that the culvert takes us under the road. Silly me! For a moment, I wasn’t sure where we were.” The ravine flowing away from the culvert was lined by exposed limestone and trees. But looking just to the north of the culvert, at the start of the ravine, I pointed to the towering stacked stone wall, “that is the old road bed. It is really cool! There’s a tunnel under it too. Come check it out.” 

“Cool!” Leah trailed behind me. No distinct trail existed, we ambled and stumbled over boulders, stepping on some, avoiding low hanging branches and fallen logs. I live for this kind of challenge. But I remembered Leah, and hoped she was still enjoying herself. She is such a good sport. 

I pulled up near the entrance to the stone culvert under the stonewall. “There’s a dead deer.” I decided not to photograph it. If I had been alone I would have been startled stumbling upon the carcass, dead things give me a nasty adrenaline rush, no idea why, after all living nearly my whole life on farms I have seen many dead animals.  

Leah came up alongside me. “Oh, poor thing.” 

“Yeah. I wonder how it died.” 

“I don’t know.” We carefully, and reverently stepped around the deer, and squatted down to look into the tunnel. 

“Unlike the metal culvert, it is incredibly quiet inside this tunnel,” I said as I crawled in. 

“I am not going in. It’s small. What if something is living in there?” 

“It gets bigger past the entrance. And I can see to the other side, there are no creatures in here. Although it seems a little spooky, it isn’t.” 

“Yeah, I am still not going in.” I did not go all the way to the other side since I could not coax Leah to join me. I could see how it may feel frightening, like the stones are pressing in on you or it may cave in, but it felt safe enough for now; although, I don’t think I will ever crawl into it when I am on my own. I marveled at the stonemanship of the hands that built this roadbed. – With improved technology and materials, we have lost a lot of craftsmanship, beauty and even high quality. There are structures that are still stable and only in decay from lack of use from 10,000 or more years ago but things built less than a decade ago that are crumbling and past repair. Humans used to build structures to last the test of time. Now, it seems things are built to fail in a decade or so, making it necessary to constantly spend money. We should, we need to, we must return to craftsmanship and quality. – The stone tunnel is temperature controlled such that it feels cozy in the winter but cool in the summer, like a cave. I could have lingered inside but mindful of Leah waiting, perhaps nervously, on the outside, crouching, I exited to rejoin her. Once more skirting around the deer carcass. 

Going back over the stone dusted boulders, I realized the difficulty of the path I had chosen for us, which I had been somewhat unaware of on the way to the tunnel in my eagerness to show it to Leah. Thankfully, she was still enjoying the trek despite the difficult terrain, the scrambling over and around potentially slick boulders, while also ducking under and around a few branches, and leaning or fallen trees. I picked up a stick, perfect in girth, length, and strength to be used as a hiking stick, aiding in my balance. I love ambling up and over the boulders, stepping across stones – I cannot explain why, perhaps the difficulty, enjoying the strain and effort and variation, but also it is very tactile which I love. Leah finds the boulders and stones, the drama of the bluffs interesting and beautiful but I am not sure how much she actually enjoys the strain of our hike. She must enjoy it at least a little, since she keeps coming back to hike these bluffs with me and wishes we could do so more often. The sun was beginning to set, we needed to keep moving to get back on top of the bluff and out of the woods before dark. 

“Hmm, we are starting to lose the light. Now I am in the difficult position of should I use the flash on my camera or not?”

“I don’t know.” 

“I don’t like using the flash, it usually doesn’t capture how I am seeing it very well. But I will see how it looks.” The ravine wound to the left, southwestward. The entire length of it is littered with boulders and medium sized stones, and tree debris. On either side, the bluff towered above us. I paused to examine a stone coated with a mint green lichen, a color I had never seen before. I found myself wishing I was a lichenologist, as I desired to know about this fascinating life form. Straightening up, I tried to capture on camera the grandeur of the bluffs, the depth of the ravine. The ravine walls were rock cliffs I sorely desired to climb, with young trees growing here and there, undeterred by what had to be thin soil. 

As we drew near to another metal culvert, Leah pointed out, “That large rock appears to be held up by only that tiny rock. Perhaps one day it will fall.” 

“Where?”

“Up there.” She pointed to a spot above us. 

“Oh, I see it! Yeah, it will probably hold for a long while. If it does crumble, hopefully it’s not when we are here!” The small-lake-cabin-sized, limestone boulder had the appearance of being precariously perched on top of a soccer ball sized rock. “Can you imagine the sound and sight of it crashing down?! It would be spectacular!” 

“Yeah.” 

“Well, we either have to walk through the culvert or climb up to the road and cross it. If it wasn’t starting to get dark we could explore more on this side of the road but we need to be getting back now. It’s about thirty to forty minutes back.” 

“Let’s go through the culvert.” 

“Probably a good idea. It may not be wise to cross the road in the failing light.” Once again, I led the way, scrambling over a pile of boulders to the entrance of the tunnel, where a pile of leaves had collected. I turned on the headlamp to light the way. “It is quite a drop off on the other side.” 

“Okay.” This time around we did not linger inside the tunnel; we would need to pick up the pace to get back to the gravel driveway before dark. I hadn’t thought about just how fast the dark descends in winter. And of course it is darker in the woods, especially in the valley. 

I approached the end of the culvert. “Okay, it’s an even bigger drop off than I remember. So how do we get down safely.” I examined the boulders below. Sitting on the edge and fully extending my leg, I could just reach a boulder, from there I picked my way down the rocky incline. Leah followed. Unlike the ravine we just exited, this one had a sheet of ice slick ice. We tread carefully, using rocky protrusions to step on for grip. We looked up at the looming bluff slope, so steep in places it appeared vertical. “Jesse and I climbed up that one time, in deep snow. But don’t worry, you and I are not going up it.” 

“Good, because I don’t think I would make it.” 

“We keep following this ravine a ways until it hooks up with another coming down the bluff. That’s the least difficult way up the bluff as it is more gradual, and there are rocks to climb over.”

Soon we came to a dike of sorts separating the two ravines, and ambled up, arriving at a large boulder scree. I love these moss-cloaked, irregular shaped and sized, limestone boulders. They satisfy my desire for adventure and rock climbing. I just really enjoy climbing over rocks, sitting on them, running my hands over their textured exterior. After taking a couple of photos with the flash on, I decided I didn’t like the exposure – spots in the photo would be too bright and the rest cast in too dark of shadow. “Aren’t these rocks amazing! I just love them! I brought Katie and Adelaide here, although we were further up when we started following the ravine up the bluff.” 

 “They’re pretty and cool, but that’s still a long ways up!” Leah was tiring out from the long, arduous trek, and I worried she would become discouraged. 

I turned around to encourage her, “It’s not too bad. We don’t have far to go now. You can make it. The rocky scree and exposed bedrock of the ravine create “levels”,” I explained, “We will go up three or four levels before leaving the ravine to charge up the side of the bluff. It will be a steeper climb but will be faster. It is getting dark.” I nimbly scrambled up the boulders, thoroughly relishing the climb. Leah lagged behind, stopping to catch her breath several times. 

We had only made it to the second level, “I have to stop and take a breather. My heart is pounding incredibly fast! I might have a heart attack.” 

“Okay.” We sat down on the rocks. My heart rate does increase when climbing these bluffs but I never give it much thought, usually I am so winded I feel like I will run out of air and need to stop to rest, but oddly I felt great – with Leah to compare to, I felt I was in great shape despite my exercise induced asthma. In fact, I hadn’t felt nearly as breathless as I normally do on this hike. Perhaps, it helped to traverse the bluffs often. 

Gently, I coaxed Leah up and moving again. I really wanted to be out of the woods before it was dark, where there would be less to potentially trip on and more level ground. The first boulders we climbed up were individuals scattered across the bottom of the ravine, the next cluster was in a pile. I paused on the snow dusted rocks to examine a leg bone of some unfortunate creature. “Here’s a leg bone.” 

Leah pulled up alongside me, “Hmm, curious.” 

A few more steps, “Oh, and here’s a dead raccoon. But it’s not its leg. There isn’t much decay to him yet.” The raccoon rested on its back, all but its face tucked under the leaves and snow. Its teeth filled jaws wide open in a full throated scream or laugh, it is hard to say. “Poor guy.” 

“Yeah.” 

“I wonder why nothing has started to eat it yet.”

“Maybe it’s been too cold; no one knows it is here yet.”

“Maybe. Well, I will take a picture.” We pressed onward, up another limestone slab. “Here’s another one! How strange to find two so close together. I wonder how they died.”

“I don’t know. But this one looks funny.” The raccoon held its paw over its face like it was shielding itself. We laughed. “Ah, not my face!” Leah joked. “It’s like it died scared of something.” 

“Yeah. Sorry, raccoon, we don’t mean to be disrespectful.” 

“Perhaps it had a sense of humor, in which case by laughing we are honoring him,” Leah said. I liked her way of thinking. 

“Absolutely!” 

“You have to get a photo of this one two.” 

“Yep.” I squatted down to find a good angle for the shot. Standing up, we crawled up another pile of boulders. Tracks in the snow and swirling patterns in the ice momentarily halted our climb. Onward, we ambled up layers of exposed bedrock, around a couple of fallen, decaying trees. Stumbling over fallen branches and stones, frozen, snow-covered leaves crunching underfoot, we drew near to the last stone stairs to climb. 

“Wow, it’s so neat,” Leah admired the stepped, layered bedrock. 

“Yeah, it’s awesome! We climb up this and then leave the ravine to hike up the bluff directly. There’s a trail that will be easy walking and then we will be in the pasture.” 

I traipsed up the hill, winded but energized by the thought nearing the end, with supper as a reward. “Come, Leah, you can do it! It’s not too much farther to the trail and then no more climbing! Think of the tasty food we’ll have!” I had been feeling hungry at all but now that we’d soon be out of the woods, it suddenly came rushing upon me. Leah struggled up the hill, breathless and heart pounding, not used to the strain. A couple of times she paused briefly to catch her breath and hope to calm her heart. I felt bad that just going at my normal pace left her far behind. Halfway up the old logging trail, I paused and turned around, “Come on, I know you’re worn out but we are almost there! And then we will no longer be going uphill!” 

“Good! I am about dead!” And yet, she was still enjoying herself. 

“Just think about how many calories we’ve burned; we don’t have to feel quite so bad about going out to eat.” 

“I am getting really hungry.” 

“Me too. I only had a bowl of yogurt and strawberries for lunch.” 

Darkness descended quickly. We ambled over the metal pipe fence. In the pasture there would be less litter to stumble over, but unfortunately we still had to tramp uphill. I apologized but encouraged Leah that the incline wasn’t as great. I gave up taking any photos, it was too dark. I turned the headlamp on, hoping the height difference would allow Leah to see well enough following behind me. We would be a bit later getting back than I had told Jesse to expect us, but I had not heard from him yet, so he must not have been worried. We followed a cow path through the pasture, up along the side of the big pond. Drawing near to the barn, the beef cows, black silhouettes with glowing eyes, came to investigate us, which was unnerving. 

“Go away! We are no one of interest to you!” I told the curious bovines. 

“I hope they won’t get too close! And that we don’t step in any fresh poop.” 

“I don’t think they will. And I am keeping a close eye on the ground here.” There was concern that some of the curious onlookers that came up behind us would run, plowing right into us. We stayed close to the fence as we progressed through the pasture. Coming upon the gate, I opened it up and we went through, leaving the cows behind. Back on the gravel road, the walking was much easier. As we arrived back at the house, I said, “I was twenty minutes off from our estimated time. Pretty good though for just a guess.” 

“Well you probably would have been on time if I hadn’t been slowing you down.” 

“That may be true. But you didn’t slow me down too much.” Telling Jesse about our adventure in the woods over supper, we joked about how I almost killed Leah with the exertion of the hike.  

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