The Last Visit

I was fortunate to have another rain-free day for what I think will be my last visit of the year to my phenology spot in Centennial woods. I decided to bring a friend with me this time, out to see the newly sprouted ferns and young trees that are just beginning to show tiny leaves after forming buds. The walk was exceptionally muddy; no doubt the soil had become saturated with rain from the past few days, to the point where each footstep landed a hearty squelch. Since my visit last week, nothing much has changed – things are more green, for sure, more vibrantly so, and there seems to be more moss, but for the most part there is nothing new or surprising.

We sit on the fallen log I’ve put in many pictures on this blog, the one that overlooks the huge oak in the center of my place. It’s a little damp, but in the surprisingly warm air it’s pleasant to touch. The birds are considerably more active today. There isn’t a moment of quiet. The air is mostly dominated by the throaty caws of two crows who dance about each other in the trees, bobbing forwards off of branches almost as if they’re bowing to each other. A chickadee sings off in the distance, and I can periodically hear the tapping of the woodpecker on one of the pine trees in the stand behind us. It’s comforting to see the woods so full of life again. I have to admit, some of the winter visits left me uneasy and sad in their silence and greyness, and I welcome the lively birdsong. There are some chirps and whistles I don’t recognize, but due to my proximity to the nearby Marsh, I guess at the existence of a red-winged blackbird.

Over the months, not only has this place been a hub of learning and quiet observation, but I have grown attached to it. Often, in times of stress or anxiety over the semester, I have sought out the very log I sat on earlier today to clear my thoughts and be within the trees. I have always felt a part of the woods and the forest wherever I go, because I just see nature as a thing that humans are intrinsically apart of, but the greater meaning of being specifically a part of THIS place is different. During the first semester, I was only an occasional visitor. I came to take photos and examine the leaves as they turned from green to yellow to red to brown, watched as they fell from the arms of their trees. I studied the soft prints in the snow, and gradually, as my frequency to this area continued to grow, I felt more and more connected to it. Nature and culture, for me, at least, are always entwined. I derive so much enjoyment and calm from nature, recreate in nature, tell stories about nature and have rooted the beginning of what I hope to be my life’s work in nature – and now this place, because I have made it so special has become a part of me. I will never forget it. Because of that, I have also become a part of it.

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