Outdoors – Page 8

to speak of many things – of Streams and the Chesapeake

Have you ever seen the Chesapeake Bay? If not, you need to. It is the largest of the several major salt water estuaries on the east coast of the United States. Others include Narraganset Bay in Rhode Island, and the Pamlico Sound in North Carolina. If you take out a map of the United Sates and look at the east coast, these estuaries look like large lakes attached to the Atlantic Ocean. This is of course what makes an estuary an estuary. There is a continual water exchange between the ocean and the bay or sound. The lower reaches of the bay or sound are tidal as is the ocean. And the upper reaches of these bodies of water may show some tidal rise and fall, but the rise and fall of water on the shoreline is just as often due to wind. However, looking at these waters on such a large-scale map is not the best to way to view them. You need to get up close.

When you look at the Pamlico sound closely you can see that it is fed by rivers that flow from the inland areas of North Carolina and Virginia. The Trent River, the Neuse River, the Tar River, the Pamlico River originate far up-state and pass through towns and farms as the deliver water to the Sound. This is an important aspect of all estuaries. Even though they are salty and brackish from their exchange of water with the Atlantic Ocean, and even though they support fishes that travel back and forth from the ocean in their life-cycle, their sources of water are the streams, and creeks, and rivers that flow down from areas deep inland. The streams that flow into each of these rivers, together with the land they drain, are the river’s watershed. The Chesapeake Bay is fed by several major rivers. They include the Potomac flowing through Virginia and Maryland, the Susquehanna whose watershed is in Pennsylvania and New York and Maryland, the Patuxent in Maryland, the Choptank through Delaware and Maryland, and the Rappahannock River and the James River in Virginia. Again, these rivers flow through towns and farms and in the case of the Chesapeake though major urban and industrial areas.

These watersheds not only carry water to their estuary from the land, but they also carry pollutants. The land that is drained by the streams and rivers of the watershed is the source of the pollution. The pollution, whether debris from erosion or chemical pollutants, degrade the productivity of the estuary. The estuaries have a major role in the success of the fishing industries that depend on their waters for the fish and crabs they harvest. The estuaries provide a habitat for the life-cycle of some of our favorite sea-foods. But don’t look at the center of the bay or sound for this, look at the edges. Get up close to the seagrass beds and the marshes that line the banks of the estuaries – or use to line the banks of the estuaries. In these shallow waters that you can wade into, tiny crabs and fish hide and grow until they are ready to move out into deeper waters of the estuary.

It’s the clarity of the water that is important. The clarity allows for the development and success of seagrass beds. These seagrasses which use to thrive in vast meadows in the Chesapeake Bay collapsed in the 1950s through the 1970s. These fields of underwater grasses which grew near the shore were the home to many of the creatures on the lower end of the food chain and the nursery for the important recreational and cash fisheries that the Bay supported at one time. The much loved Chesapeake Blue Crab and the famed striped bass (rock fish) started their lives here. Without these beds of seagrass the fisheries were disappearing. What caused the grasses to disappear? Uncontrolled development. Development on the share of the Chesapeake but also and more importantly development throughout the watersheds that fed the Chesapeake. From the lawns and farms that were fertilized and on which weed killer was sprayed came the pollutants that were leading to the failure of the seagrass. Weed killers worked against the seagrass, and so did the fertilizers that washed off the lawns which encouraged the growth of algae in the water. The algae blocked the light that the seagrass needed to grow, causing the seagrass meadows to disappear.

Individuals and communities, as well as the states that border the Chesapeake Bay, began to take actions to clean up the problem. One of the actions that was taken was the imposition by the State of Maryland of a stormwater fee, also called the “rain tax”. This was in response to an action by the US Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) through the Clean Water Act to develop methods and funding to clean up the Chesapeake Bay and to protect the Bay from further damage. The law required the states that have watersheds that drain into the Bay to develop local measures to protect the Bay. This included Pennsylvania, Delaware, New York, Virginia, Maryland, and the District of Columbia. Only Maryland established a stormwater fee program. Under the program land owners were assessed a fee based on the impervious, i.e., paved, hard surfaces, that did not allow water to seep into the ground. Rather the rain ran off the hard surfaces and into the streams of watersheds that fed the Bay.

The basic question is does the Bay still need protection. The basic answer is yes.

The Bay showed improvements based on an annual rating. The water quality had improved. Clarity improved and seagrass beds were improving. Other important factors had also been showing improvement over the last decade. However, in 2018 the Bay fell to a grade of D-plus. This was the first decline in quality in the last several years. The decline was blamed on the amounts of heavy rain that had fallen on the east coast watersheds that year. More pollutants including particulates (soil and debris) had been washed from the watersheds into the Bay. There the pollutants will again effect the clarity and productivity of the Bay.

So – again – does the Bay still need protection? Yes!

For more information on the Chesapeake Bay and the Stormwater fee please visit the Chesapeake Bay Foundation at http://www.cbf.org/about-cbf/locations/maryland/issues/stormwater-fees.html#taxes

The 2018 State of the Bay report may be found at http://www.cbf.org/about-the-bay/state-of-the-bay-report/

The picture of the Blue Crab is derived from a photograph taken from the Chesapeake Bay Foundation website. Credit for the photograph is Jay Fleming/iLCP.

Imagining the New Year

New Year’s Day for me was not 1 January; it was 6 January. I consider New Year’s Day a movable feast. It’s the day after the turn of the year on which in the morning I can get out to one of the places I like to hike and there to imagine the world. While walking in the beauty of a sun-lit field I reflect on the past year and ponder the future. I imagine the future as a world with clear skies and balance.

When I imagine the future, I see it as an expanding microcosm with me at the center. Why am I at the center? It is not an over-blown ego, rather it is because I am the actor; I am the person, the entity, that has the power of imagining my place in the future and then taking steps to make it happen. I do not have power over nature or over other people, only some over myself. Perhaps I might have some influence on others. I can ask the most important question of all, “How can I help?” As the world moves to a population of Eight Billion, it will be in motion. There will be more migrant caravans, there will be changes in patterns of weather and wildlife, there will be changes to the average temperature, and the harvest and the sea will change. There may be multiple causes, but all will drive the movement of the burgeoning world populations as they seek safety and food and a meaningful life. How can I help?

A hawk rose from the stubble of the mown field and slowly flew to the distant trees. It perched high to catch the warming rays of the rising sun. I saw a quick flight in the tall grass and then a burst of energy to the high branches of a nearby tree. Eastern Bluebirds were searching for insects in the grass and then flew to the tops of trees where the morning sun was energizing creeping and flying insects that are around this time of year. Even though it was just after the turn of the year, it was like summer. The weather was cold, below freezing. But as the sun came up, it brought light to infuse everything with a brightness, causing the sky and the morning frost to sparkle.

A flock of blue Jays, oddly silent, flew around the chestnut trees, racing each other from tree to tree. They would drop to the ground to investigate something and then return to the lower branches to watch me and the hawk and the Bluebirds. A balance of movement and light and quietness.

This is why I come to these places. I come to see what the world is doing. I come to reflect on my place in the world and in the family of humanity. I come to think on what I can do/should do to help improve what I can, and try to improve even what I can’t. Reinhold Niebuhr spoke to knowing the difference between what a person can accomplish and what they can’t. There is serenity in that, and wisdom, but to fulfill my place I need to act, even when I know that I may not reach my goal. Today the sky was clear and bright; tomorrow it may be cloudy. But the purpose on which I act is a constant source of light. I need to rise to it.

I see one of the Bluebirds fly up and settle in the branches near the top of a china berry tree. The little bird’s red breast is turned to the morning sun. It sits quietly and perhaps reflects on its own purpose. And perhaps it has a knowledge of whether it is possible. It suddenly launches and flies to another tree.

The serenity prayer by Reinhold Niebuhr can be found at https://www.beliefnet.com/prayers/protestant/addiction/serenity-prayer.aspx

The picture of the child is based on a photograph at wallpaperbetter.com.

The Wreck on Bogue Banks

I first saw it in the night. A large shape laying in the trough of the waves of the retreating tide. It was windy, and the sea was running high. The troughs of the waves were deep. The large, black shape lay in the water about 50 yards off shore. It looked big.

I was star gazing off the deck of the rented cottage on Bogue Banks, North Carolina. I looked up at Orion and his nebula. I watched Canopus, the navigator, rise and then set on the southern horizon. The moon was full and reflected off the face of the running waves. I turned my glasses to the waves to see what might be out there. I was startled when I saw a black mass rise above the surface of the water and then submerge. It was truly big. I estimated it to be no less than eight-feet long above the water with what appeared to be a humped back. Was it a shark? But there was no fin. A dolphin perhaps? But again no fin. What creature could have this shape? But it did not seem to move. It lay in the water and let the waves pass over it seeming to rise in the trough and to disappear as the crest of the wave passed over it. My mind imagined all sort of creatures, mythological as well as real. But what would venture into the surf and lay there?

The next morning when the tide was high I went out to the beach to see if anything with fins or limbs had washed up in the night. There was nothing there. And there was nothing to be seen in the surf. The next low tide was in the early afternoon. We were having cousins over for lunch, and I planned to ask them what they might have heard about something in the water, whether creature or fish tale, since they were familiar with the goings on in the area. I planned to broach the subject privately with one or two of my cousins rather than ask the entire group. Before I had a chance to ask, I heard someone say, “Look, there’s a turtle in the surf.” We all went out onto the deck to get a glimpse. We could see a dark shape about 100 yards away. It would appear in the troughs of the waves and then submerge as the wave crest passed. Was this the creature that I had seen in the night? Was this the mystery solved? But we all noticed that what first appeared to be motion was the wake of the passing water. This shape did not move.

Then the thought struck me. The question was not what it was. The question was where was I?

I did a little research and realized that the deck I stood on was on the location of the old Iron Steamer Pier at Bogue Banks. Just offshore was the grave of the Confederate ship SS Pevensey, an iron-clad blockade runner. She had been chased inshore by the Union vessel SS New Berne in June 1864. The Pevensey broke and sank there. Parts of her boilers and machinery remain on the bottom about 150 yards off-shore. The Iron Steamer Pier had been built over the site of the wreck since the sunken ship made a good artificial reef which attracted fish. The pier and adjacent motel lasted through storms and hurricanes for more than 50 years. The pier was finally broken by the surf and wind of a hurricane and then closed for good in 2004. Since then the land was developed, and beach cottages, similar to the many that line the Banks, were built on the site. The old sea wall from the pier forms the sea wall for the properties.

The edges of the submerged ruin were exposed by the falling tide and appeared as a dark shape that would rise and fall as the wave trough passed over its resting place.

So it was not a creature or a myth that lay and rose and fell in the troughs of the waves at low tide, but the ruins and ghosts of a broken ship.

Additional information on the wreck of the SS Pevensey and the old Iron Steamer Pier may be found at http://pineknollhistory.blogspot.com/2015/07/iron-steamer-pier-retrospective.html. That site is also the source of the picture of the ship.

Leaf Story

Yesterday I spent the better part of the afternoon outside. What I was doing was not as enjoyable as a good, long hike in the autumn woods with the crunch of leaves beneath my feet. There was the crunch of leaves, but I was raking them and moving them. In my small city, we can rake the leaves to the curb for pickup by the city. It’s nice to be able to do put the leaves at the curb instead of bagging them. That is one of the reasons I enjoy living in the City of Fairfax.

But I remember the time in which the cool Fall air would be mixed with the rich smell of burning leaves. In the Fall, in towns where I grew up, small piles of leaves would dot the yards. Those small piles were often burned in place by the property owner. Or the leaves might have been swept to the curb or edge of the street to be burned. Sometimes a brick bbq pit would be used as a leaf furnace. Every yard had a least one, round, burn circle somewhere in the back. But those days are behind us, and for good reason. The smoke from the many piles of leaves, especially as towns grew and suburbs sprawled, became a choking haze over the houses and the city. The Fall air is cleaner now, and I do not miss the times of dense smoke. But I can remember the sights and the rich, sweet smell that rose up from the fires of our small piles of leaves and fallen twigs.

They were like camp fires. We would gather around the pile and watch as the tongues of flame crept through its depth. We would then stand guard to make sure the fire did not go beyond the pile of leaves and its burn circle. There was always a bucket of water at hand in case the grass began to burn, and maybe a hose if one was available. It was a family event. My parents or my grandmother would be around, and my brother and my cousins and I would poke at the small fire and stare into its flame. We would talk about our lives and dream aloud of our future. It was a time together.

The finest picture I have seen of this is the one by John McCutcheon which he drew in 1907 for the Chicago Tribune. A young boy stands and stares into the smoke while his grandfather relates a tale of years gone by. The language has fallen into disuse, but I believe the sentiments expressed are strong and valuable and worthy of remembering.

There were people who lived on these lands long before the Europeans came. They and their children held the land as sacred. They knew and kept the value of family. They respected the people that had lived on the land before them and who had passed forward the land rich with life. These people also looked with hope into their future.

John McCutcheon’s cartoon and text are no longer published. But each year about this time after I have been raking and preparing the garden with an eye to Spring, I take out my yellowed copy of the art with its history and read it again. And I thank all of the people that lived on this land before and who worked to care for the land and the water and the air so that it might remain a place of beauty. It is a place to remember.

The story of John McCutcheon’s art titled “Injun Summer” can be found at http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/nationworld/politics/chi-chicagodays-injunsummer-story-story.html

Reef Protector

I had to decide if I wanted to title this post “KILLER ROBOT” or “Reef Protector”. The two different titles convey very different images, one quite provocative as a hunter/killer, and bringing to mind an endless stream of science fiction movies. I chose “Reef Protector”. It brings to mind a quest, and a hero who takes on the challenge. I had already designed the art of a killer robot but added a shield to make it less so – an assassin and a protector.

The Great Barrier Reef Foundation (GBRF) in Brisbane, Queensland, Australia, https://www.barrierreef.org/the-foundation, launched a protective program to defend the Great Barrier Reef against a voracious predator,the Crown of Thorns starfish. This predator is one of the greatest challenges facing the survival of the Great Barrier Reef. Other threats to the Great Barrier Reef include climate change, disease, changes in ocean chemistry, rising ocean waters, pollution, and physical destruction of portions of the reef by fishing gear and boat propellers. These economically valuable and beautiful reefs are threatened wherever they are.

I have not seen any part of the Great Barrier Reef, but I have dived on smaller reefs in the Philippines and in Florida where corals have created habitats for a myriad of other species. I plan on visiting the Great Barrier Reef, but this creates a challenge as well. When I get there I have to ensure that my presence and my activity does not further damage or destroy any part of this magnificent natural wonder. I say that not just as an individual wanderer, but as one of many people who visit the area. We all must ensure that tours and dives we take and services that are provided to us allow for sustainable use and protection of the Great Barrier Reef.

If the Great Barrier Reef were a single organism, it would be the largest living organism on the planet. It is of course a massive natural wonder that is made of countless individuals from a myriad of species,including many fragile and beautiful corals. However, in lore and in stories a coral reef is considered a danger which can crush the hulls of massive ships and tear small boats apart. How can a fragile thing be so dangerous and tear apart the strongest steel? The coral in the coral reef is a tiny animal. The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration’s (NOAA) website, https://coralreef.noaa.gov/, describes the coral animals, called polyps, as being between one and three millimeters across. That means that in the space of an inch, depending on the type of coral, between eight polyps and 25 polyps could exist. A five-inch line of type could span more than 100 polyps. The coral polyps create hard shells out of minerals in the sea water and live in closely packed colonies. When the polyps die their tiny skeletons remain behind along with those of its generation. These skeletons form the base for the following generations of corals to grow on. Over thousands of years these tiny polyps build up into massive reefs of incredible bulk and mass. It is this stony calcium carbonate base that has the mass to tear ships apart.

The Great Barrier Reef is made up of not just the uncountable individual coral polyps but of a huge number of intertwining coral reefs that have built up over the millennia. These reefs provide shelter for undersea communities that form the basis of the vast food webs of the warm tropical waters in which the majority of reefs are found. The reefs provide protection for the land on their inward side as they break the force of the ocean storms as the waves cross over the reef. In adddition, they are a living ecological community of incredible beauty.

The GBRF is working to protect the Great Barrier Reef. As part of their effort the RangerBot program was launched in 2015. Initially and provocatively described in the press, these robots were programmed to find and kill the Crown of Thorns starfish. The Crown of Thorns eats away at the corals and destroys much of the coral community. Without the living corals the other members of the undersea environment living on the reef were deprived of its benefits and either died or migrated to find other living coral reefs that could provide them with a habitat. And of course, the Crown of Thorns would be there too.

Because of nutrient runoff from farms and homes into streams that feed rivers whose waters flow out to and over the Great Barrier Reef, the population of the Crown of Thorns starfish has grown significantly. With this population growth, their capacity to destroy large portions of the Great Barrier Reef has also escalated. To fight this increasing threat the RangerBot program was launched to seek out, optically identify, and kill the Crown of Thorns starfish with a killing agent. But this is not the only capability of the RangerBot. It is described on the GBRF website as a “Swiss-Army knife” for reef protection. The RangerBot was developed by the Queensland University of Technology (QUT) as an autonomous, underwater vehicle which can provide a “ranger-like” presence in the coral reef, day and night. It is a new set of eyes and hands for reef managers. It not only can help control the Crown of Thorns, but it can also be used to monitor the health of the reef. A planned modification of the RangerBot will assist in the spread of new coral polyps. The RangerBot will collect millions of spawn from the corals. After the spawn has been raised to a larval stage in large tanks, the RangerBot will return them to the reefs and spread them in an effort to rejuvenate the damaged reefs.

Hooray for the good guys!

Scientific American has an excellent article on the RangerBot’s fight against the Crown of Thorns, https://www.scientificamerican.com/article/a-starfish-killing-artificially-intelligent-robot-is-set-to-patrol-the-great-barrier-reef/.

New Atlas has an article on the planned version of RangerBot, https://newatlas.com/larvalbot-larvae-robot-great-barrier-reef/56966/.

Hippopotamus Virginicus

There is a road that cuts through the rolling hills of Virginia’s piedmont that I travel several times each year. I generally take this road at the end of a trip up and down interstate highways when I have gone off to visit family. The road is relaxing after the hubbub of the interstates, and the area that it goes through is enjoyable. It has vistas of rolling hills both as pasture and as woodland. It goes through villages that have not overgrown to the point that they need more than one stop light. It passes farm ponds and mountain streams. But you have to look out for the wildlife. A deer may burst from the woods. A fox may be seen crossing an open area. And the squirrels will challenge you as they dash back and forth across the road. But that’s about all you will see. These are the animals that have learned to abide close to the houses and farms we have built. But I very seldom see a bob-cat or a bear – or a hippopotamus. What?

Sure enough in my last passage along this road I looked up into a manicured area that led to someone’s house, and there next to the stream was a hippopotamus. It large shiny shape was unmistakable. Its massive jaw jutted outwards from its rotundity as it seemed to be moving from the water up the slight hill towards the house.

I had to turn around. I had to take a second look. I could not believe that there was a real hippo wandering these Virginia woods, or that someone had a life size hippo lawn ornament. After making a safe and legal U-turn I drove past the lawn again. And then again as I returned to my original direction. As I had surmised it was a lawn ornament. But what a lawn ornament, it was a full size bronze hippopotamus walking up that manicured lawn.

To me this was a recognition by the land owner of the changing relationship between us – all of humanity – and the creatures with whom we share this planet Earth. It’s not just with the Hippopotamus. It’s how our relationship is changing with all species, each of which has a place in the order and manner of life on earth. This changing relationship is not focused on species that are threatened or endangered or on a species that has moved out of its historical range and is now in our back yard. It’s our relationship with all of them; the hippopotamus, the elephant, the white-tailed deer, the northern bob-white quail, the mountain blue bird, the indigo snake, the desert gecko, the snow leopard. Its about how we and all the animals will coexist in the future.

Rules of location and use have been shattered in the last century. Wild populations have been destroyed and other species have moved in and replaced them. Or a species may explode in numbers when a natural predator is removed. Frogs die; Insects swarm.

But our relationship is shifting from a cohabiter of Earth to that of being the one species that must become the steward of all. We are the ones who have the capacity and the means to provide or withhold. We can enhance or destroy. We all must be aware of our role in the Earthly environment and the effect that we do have on local and on distant species.

Be aware. As frogs die, crops may be destroyed and disease may be spread.

I will look for this single Hippopotamus Virginicus when I drive down that road in the future. For me and for all of us it should be a reminder that we are caretakers, not owners.

The picture is based on a photograph at www.naturephoto-cz.com.

Thanksgiving Road Trip

Sometimes to get where you want to go you take a drive. Road Trip! Those two words often bring joy and always bring excitement. And it’s not just the family dog that gets excited; everyone does! Whatever the destination, it’s an adventure waiting to happen. It’s the enjoyment of something new.

As important as the destination is to the road trip, it’s just as important to first get on the road. But what happens when even the first stage doesn’t come together?

The goal of a recent road trip was to reach the rocky coast of Rhode Island. It was going to be crowded on the roads, but my goal was worth the trouble. I planned to walk along that rocky coast and watch the sun come up over the Narragansett Bay. There are several trails in the area that I count as favorites, but this time I was going to try a new path. I had heard it led across the rocks to a precipice overlooking the Bay.

It was Tuesday. I had been planning all week to get on the road after work and head north. It was going to be a two-day drive. And I knew that I’d have a lot of company on the road since it was Thanksgiving week. I had plans for where to stay in Rhode Island, but I would decide where to spend the first night when I was on the road. If I was able to get in three to four hours of good driving, the second day on the road would be easier.

Leaving at 5:30PM would mean pulling off the road around 9:00PM. Then on Wednesday I’d have a short drive up the I-95 corridor in New England. That stretch of road can often be a bear so I decided giving myself plenty of time was best. There was no need to be in a rush, especially when rushing is often not possible due to traffic. But it turned out that getting out of – or in this case onto – my driveway was the first and greatest hurdle.

Our second car was parked on the street. We were having some improvements made to our house and the garage was being used for storing equipment and material. The project was almost completed so now there was room for me to move this second car into the garage before we left. I had moved that car around the block several times to keep it out of the way of the workers and their vehicles. And therein lay my problem.

Everything was ready. The bags were packed. The food was in the cooler. Maps were in the back seat. And we were right on schedule. All that needed to be done was to put the car in the garage, and we could be on our way. I got into the car and turned the key – and nothing. Not a wheeze, not a whimper, was to be heard from the car. I was stunned. I tried again, but nothing. And I tried again with the same results. The perfect plan for an escape before the major push of traffic was falling apart.

Several phone calls later and following the arrival of a service truck, the car was running. I had forgotten that the battery in the car was drained a little bit each time I started it over the last several weeks. And since I only drove it around the block, the battery never had a real chance to recharge. Even if I pushed the car into the garage, I would have the same problem when I returned and wanted to drive it out of the garage.

The service truck driver got us started, but now two hours had passed. Traffic was building up in front of me. To the hours lost I now had to add half an hour of driving the car around to make sure the battery was completely charged. This done, I put the car in the garage. Now we were nearly three hours behind our carefully planned schedule.

But when I reached into my plan – figuratively speaking – to salvage it, the best part of the plan that I could grab hold of was the flexibility we had worked into it. When we had decided on the trip we knew that our final destination was over a day away. We knew we would have to spend the night on the road, but now how far would be get?

FLEX-I-BIL-I-TY! It’s got to be your middle name on a road trip! Especially at the beginning.

There are many parts to a road trip, and like a story there is a beginning, a middle, and an end. For us the beginning was almost the end – or so we thought. But helpful people on the phone and a helpful service truck driver and our (reach deep for it) patience allowed us to get to the middle. We made it. We arrived in Rhode Island and had a good walk. We stood on the precipice and looked over the bay. It was cold, but there was little wind and the bay was as calm as a mill pond. The sun rising over the distant rocks and turning the surface of the dark water to shimmering reds and golds was well worth the trouble.

At the end we got home safely. May we all!

Yes, the car in the garage started right up!

Enjoy the road. Enjoy the trip. And always be flexible.

Frosty Morning

What it’s like going out to a bird survey station in the late Fall before the sun comes up.

It’s DARK !

It’s quiet.

It’s cold.

There’s the sound of the frosted grass crunching under your feet as you walk up the hill.

It’s the frosty haze from your breath.

It’s your heart beat as the loudest thing you can hear.

It’s thinking that your backpack is too heavy with too much stuff.

It’s passing the old family cemetery.

It’s stumbling on a root that you’ve stepped over 1,000 time before.

It’s the little bird flying up in front of you as you pass its roosting place in the grass.

It’s your heart rate speeding up.

It’s stopping and standing and listening and hearing the exhale of the Earth.

It’s seeing Venus brighter than you’ve ever seen her.

It’s losing the path and stopping to try to find your way.

It’s finding the path.

It’s thinking that you hear something.

It’s reaching the summit.

And it’s setting down your chair – and sitting in it.

It’s relaxing to the point of being in the dark like everything around you.

It’s looking up and seeing stars you can’t see from your house.

It’s your heart rate slowing down.

It’s knowing that no one else is out there – it’s just you.

It’s recognizing Orion and Spica in Virgo.

It’s having a cup of hot coffee from the thermos you carried in your back pack.

It’s hearing a night hawk close by.

It’s sitting quietly and watching the eastern sky brighten as dawn comes.

It’s waiting – for what you’re not sure.

It’s seeing a deer cross the top of the distant hill.

It’s seeing a fox come out of the underbrush and look at you.

It’s wondering what the fox may think.

It’s seeing the hill and the woods go from grays to the golden browns and reds of the Fall.

It’s knowing that the persimmons can be eaten – if you can find them.

It’s hearing the first bird sing out – and an answer.

It’s recognizing the bird song from your youth.

It’s thinking about what you need to do that day.

It’s the excitement of hearing the bird call you are seeking.

It’s seeing the sun come up.

It’s realizing that what you’re doing now is as good as it gets.

It’s lingering in the early light.

It’s walking down the hill in the morning sun.

It’s saying a prayer for the whole world on a frosty morning.

Virginia Pine

In the late Fall before Winter sets in, I go out to the hills of Manassas to help with a Fall quail count. I arrive before dawn breaks, while the stars are still out. I like moonless nights or when the moon has already set so I can see plenty of stars. I walk up the hills in the dark, picking my way carefully. I have my binoculars and a thermos of coffee. Its rather cold on these frosty mornings, but I can watch the stars pass overhead while I enjoy an early morning cup of coffee.

There is a tree at the top of the hill close to the listening station. It is an old Virginia Pine, Pinus virginiana. I walk to this tree almost every time that I am in the Brawer Farm area of Manassas. It is at the junction of trails on the hill where the Wisconsin men, later known as the Iron Brigade, stood and held their line on August 28, 1862. These are special places, and these are special trees. This particular tree was not growing at the time of the battle; those trees are known as Witness Trees. The Witness Trees are scattered throughout the park, mainly deep in the woods where young men of the blue and the grey moved to battle.

In summer I would often stop at this Virginia Pine and rest in its shade. I was generally a mile or so into my walk and had another mile or more to go, depending on the path I chose to take. In the Winter the frosted grass would crunch under my feet as I walked up the hill to this tree. This Fall as I walked up to the top of the rise in the dark morning, the moon is still up and gives light to the path and the fields around me. But I am surprised that I cannot see the tree’s profile against the sky.

It is gone.

The roots are torn from the crest of the hill. The tree is reduced to a stump. The trunk is sawed apart. The pieces lay where they had fallen. It is clear that the tree had been blown over in an early Fall storm and reduced to this state by the rangers. The bench where I sat and listened for quail coveys had been taken away.

Standing in the area that used to be shaded by the tree I completed the morning’s listening survey. As the sun came up I looked closely at the stump and counted the tree rings. The tree was mature but not old. According to the rings the tree had passed through about 50 years of varying conditions. Some years were good for growth and the rings were wide. Narrow rings showed stressful years in which there might have been a drought.

There have been a lot of trees in my life. Trees that I climbed. Trees that I rested under. Trees that I hung food satchels from to keep the food from bears. Many of these trees are still deeply rooted in the earth and in my time outside.

For each tree that was, I know that there is a tree that is – or will be. A tree that gives hard, sweet pears in Fall or dark china berries in the Summer. A tree that may now only be a sapling that will give shade and a place to sit and look out over the hills. A spreading tree to clamber on, a tall tree to marvel at, each tree has its own uniqueness.

This Virginia Pine may be down, but I will remember it every time I walk up to the crest of the hill where the trails meet. The bench is now across the trail under a stand of cedar. I will sit there and listen to waking coveys of quail in the cold Virginia mornings.

Screen Porch in the Morning

This morning I am starting my day on our screen porch. I came out to enjoy the first cool morning of the Fall. I am glad that the mornings are no longer hot and humid. This time of year the mornings can be fantastic. I sit at the family table with the lights out and wait in the silence that is only broken by the water from last night’s rain dripping from the trees.

It’s good to start my days out in the woods when I can. But when I am pressed for time or have appointments to keep – or as Robert Frost put it, “miles to go before I sleep” – going out on my screen porch in the early morning is fine.

I sit quietly in one of the chairs around the table and wait for the morning to surprise me. I hear an owl deep in the woods calling. And I hear an answering call. There’s a strange comfort in their calls. From down the road I hear the barking call of a fox. It is prowling the pre-dawn neighborhood looking for careless rodents. Then I hear it closer, and I stand up slowly and see not one but three foxes, a vixen and two near-grown pups, standing at the edge of the street. They are lit by the distant street lamp. Their silvery red coats, wet by the rain, glisten. One of the pups sees me stand up and turns and looks in my direction. Even though I am in deep shadow I know he can see me – sense me – as an unwelcome presence on their morning hunt. Then all three turn and dash down the street towards the woods to the east. I imagine I will see them again on some other morning as I am sure they have a den nearby.

There is a little light in the sky now and the crows in the woods have begun their morning caw. Their brazen call reverberates through the woods behind the house. They are alarmed. They probably see the owl or the fox, both enemies of the crows. Their calls move from the woods and over the house as the gang lifts out of the trees and is now circling the houses in the neighborhood cawing and cawing to bother and chase off the intruder. They fly off to the west, perhaps in search of another enemy.

Now with more light, and the wake-up call from the crows, other birds are singing out. The cardinals with their varied calls surround the house. They call from the holly trees where they eat from the now red-berried branches that have fruited for the Fall. I cannot see the cardinals in the still dim light. But I can picture the male’s crimson feathers and the crest that they each carry and their distinctive orange beaks. They have become year-round guests for us, always somewhere on the edge of the property singing their songs.

Soon the day will be into the near-full light of the time just before the sun breaks through the woods across the street. And it’s time to get to work on the efforts and rewards that are calling me from my reprieve on the porch. And I know that on some another morning, when I am pressed, I can come out and embrace the day.