Encountering Earth

 The other day I went to Five Rivers to do a Raptor count. Before the count started I had time for a walk around the Beaver Tree Trail. The pond was still frozen - the ice looked brindled in jade and black swirls. On the opposite side of the pond, the ice was white. I know I have read explanations of what makes the ice different colors, but right now it was enough to enjoy the creativity of colors moving in elegant frozen waves. Icicles hung from the spillway. Reaching down into the water flowing beneath them. The last vestiges of winter.  Rushes were bent and broken by winter winds, snow, and ice. Soon, new growth would replace them. The earth was brown with ozzy mud. The kind that is just as slippery as ice. Hopeful trees were budded crimson against the sky. Willows flushed orange, so stark and striking. The sky was layered in soft blues, white and grey.  Dampness seeped from the ground and folded around me. The Raptor count  is a DEC project which counts the rapto...

 Ice. Even the sound, the hiss, the word makes as it slides over our teeth makes us edgy. Yes, we love it in summer drinks, cooling iced tea, and lemonade. But it strikes fear in our hearts as it comes down from the sky and covers the roads in terror. When it encapsulates wires and brings trees crashing down - then ice is a fiend, not a friend.  Having had a few ice-related falls, I know ice makes me tremble. But then I don my trusty microspikes and set out on icy paths with glee. That's when ice isn't intimidating but inviting. It beckons - "I have some delightful surprises for you"! Paths that lead to ice adorned creeks are so welcoming. Ice-covered branches bob happily in the water; ice-covered rocks shine in the sun. Ice sculpts itself as it clings to trees and rock faces. It has an amazing color palette. Depending on minerals seeping from tree or rock it may be amber, or jade or butterscotch or blue. It can be smooth as a mirror. It can be ridged deeply and resem...

 Breathtaking. We all have had experiences that we describe as breathtaking. A stunning sunrise, or sunset. A night sky that draws us into the cosmos with magnetic attraction. Woods that are shrouded in snow. Ice encapsulating a tree. The roaring waves of the ocean. A magnificent flower. A mountain vista. Nature gives us many opportunities to take our breath away!  This winter I have had other experiences that are breathtaking - literally. I have had the pleasure of skiing on local golf courses and bike paths. Some days it has been frigid! The wind whips down and grabs my breath and makes me work for each gulp of air. I wonder- should I stop and breathe or just catch a bit of air before it is sucked away?  On Saturday, skiing across Long Pond at Grafton, I had to stop and put on my neoprene face mask so the wind wouldn't remove my skin! The power of the wind is always breathtaking!  I watched the wind blow through the trees spreading puffs of snow over the hemlocks. ...

 A few weeks ago I took a hike at the Vischer Ferry Preserve. It was a grey day as much of January has been. I wondered if I could really see any birds since the light would not be very good, but I forged ahead. There is always something to experience in nature! I felt enveloped in a monochromatic gray. The sky was a veil of silvery clouds that reached down through the trees to the ground. Trees were etched in hues of washed-out black with brown shadows. The limbs and branches of each species sketching delicate traces or thick, dark lines across the clouds. The canal and march were frozen and the ice continued the pearly tones - white-streaked only in small places. I felt that I was lost in a Japanese watercolor! As I walked I looked more deeply and carefully. Grey was not the only color here! Muskrats had kept the water at the edge of the marsh open and brown reeds and loosestrife stood out there in the black water. The reeds towered tall and tan and rustled a song in the wind. Li...

 Why do I do it? I was hiking with a friend, so I should ask, why do we do it? Do what? Go out on a morning when the temperature is 18 degrees, but the Weather Channel has told you "feels like 9". I asked myself this question last week as I put on layers of clothing to head out. Actually, I have hiked at much colder temperatures and left the house much earlier than our 9am rendevous time. But the question still hung in the frosty air. Why? Then we got to the trailhead of the Sanders Preserve. My question evaporated as I put on my microspikes for safety. The air felt and smelled so fresh, even if a bit frigid. The trail beckoned us into the woods. Lovely hardwoods greeted us. One of the first trees I saw was an Ash, so I had to give her a special greeting since these dear trees are under assault from the Emerald Ash Borer. Many other species called to me - Shagbark Hickory, Oak, Maple and then the coniferous- Hemlock, White Pine - all friends. The Oaks were especially magnific...

 I am enjoying a few days with my family in South Jersey. One morning this road sign caught my eye. I never noticed it here before so I think it is new since the last time I visited in early Sept. The sign made me think about my family's presence here in the Pine Barrens. Gatto is my paternal grandmother's maiden name. My great-grandfather, Francesco Gatto has been here since he and his wife, Cecelia came from Italy in  1882. He cleared the land, by hand and planted black diamonds, a blackberry with large thorns, and dewberries. My grandfather Thomas Neil came back here from Waterford, NJ after marrying my grandmother, Amy. So here is the intersection of Gatto and Neil Roads and a slice of our history on this land. I am not sure who owned the land before my Gatto relatives, but for thousands of years, the Lenni-Lenape Native peoples lived in what we call New Jersey. They were hunters and agriculturalists. Unfortunately, they were driven off by European settlers. My dad would f...

 Yesterday I went snowshoeing with a friend at a local preserve- the Lisha Kill. The woods was deep in snow- over three feet of it. Whiteness spoke from everywhere - the towering hemlocks, the leaf-bare oaks, and every fallen tree. Blue sky broke in among the topmost branches. Sunlight filtered down, dancing on the white boughs. But it was a cold, white world. Silence blanketed the woods deeper than the snow. Everywhere we looked we were "whelmed- over" by the beauty of this winter woods.  At times like these, I know that poetry suits me better than prose. I was reminded of a poem I wrote on another winter hike and I share it here: Silent stories in the snow of mice and men and creatures in between. Common tales of tiny prints, seeking shelter, seeking food. Long shadows cast: tree and bush weave their yarns. Snows drift in flowing waves- voiceless myths embrace the land. Ice holds council with rock in hushed whispers,   shares the lore of eons...