I returned to the grove the other day for the final (official) time and, to my delight, the magic has begun to return. Color has finally re-emerged in the area as the trees begin to leaf out and the ground cover returns. Dandelions have begun to bloom and ostrich fern fiddleheads have popped up everywhere, making the grove feel like an enchanted forest.
I never realized until this last visit just how attached I have become to the grove over these past months. I’ve been here in the pouring rain, in frigid temperatures, on brisk, almost haunted seeming, evenings in October. I’ve sometimes visited with the intention of updating this blog, sometimes just to read a book, and once to show my family around a place that was growing near to my heart. Over time, I’ve watched leafs turn red and gradually tumble off the trees. I’ve watched as parts of the river froze over and the ground became coated in what felt like an almost permanent layer of icy snow. And I’ve watched as that snow melted and the ground became muddy and the plants began to re-emerge. If I had to define what it meant to have a sense of place with a location, I would simply give the example of my relationship with the silver maple grove.
Having spent so much time in the grove, it’s been incredible not only to build my relationship with the place, but to observe others doing so as well. In the fall, I watched as a family went foraging for mushrooms nearby and placed each individual one in a basket – it felt like something out of a fairy tale. In the winter, when I thought the area would quiet down, it did no such thing. Rather, cross-country skiers took over, each one grinning as they passed the grove, clearly just as much in love with it as I was. Now, the casual walkers and hikers have returned, bringing their dogs along for a frolic in the woods, making gleeful conversation with everyone they pass about the perfection of the weather on any given day.
I’m not sure that I’d consider myself a part of the grove, because what have I done to deserve that title? Sure, I’ve visited the area. I’ve documented the changes through the seasons and observed the minute details. I’ve peered into the crevasses in the tree bark looking for bugs and I’ve sat, perched for hours, on a tree branch with a book in my hands just enjoying my surroundings. I’m not sure that I’d consider myself a part of the grove because I haven’t changed with the seasons and endured the harsh storms – rather, I’d consider the grove a part of me, and I think that I’ll carry it and all of its mysticism with me for quite a while.
