Dear Reader,
If you take the stairs up and over the waterfall, follow the trail into the woods (making sure to duck under the log helpfully marked with a painting of a duck), and wander along the river past the pines and the beeches and the small wooden footbridges, you’ll come to a natural dam of fallen trees across a small, clear stream. Water burbles between the two logs on its way out of the serene pool above them, carrying away any sediment and leaving only pebbles and sand for a bed. On the banks, leaves carpet the ground, and a slushy mix of snow and meltwater drips off the bushes. A long-dead tree hosts plenty of life, with woodpecker holes decorating its trunk and funnel-web spider villages filling the cracks. This morning’s snow has given way to a warm afternoon, and all the moisture in the air gives the forest a cozy layer of fog. On the conglomerate rocks scattered around the area, the mosses and lichen seem delighted with the December humidity.
I’ve been to this forest before. It’s the closest natural area to my house, so my dad brought me and my sister to hike and play in the creek when we were kids. In middle school, my class took a field trip here to learn about our local forests. I remember being so excited that we got to visit my woods for school and showing my friends cool trees and rocks I remembered from walks with my dad. In high school, I came here with my cross country team for trail-running practices, first as a new runner and later as a captain. The phenology project seemed like a good time to revisit the forest; I’ve been away for some time now, and it will be nice to come back.
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