Stephen Maier

19 November 2009

Throughout the semester, our class has been discussing the impact of human touch on the natural environment people live in. We have been trying to uncover the secrets that the land we live upon holds. Acute concentration is often necessary for one to discover key elements within a site. An understanding of the land and its soil is also important in fully revealing its natural history.

In the West Clark Woods, there are several instances of noteworthy human intervention that caught my attention today, November 19^th, 2009. First, an old link of barbed wire is hidden in the brush along the forest floor. Occasionally it will sink its teeth into my pant leg and resist my getaway. This dangerous fence was used as a means of containing the cattle and horses in a designated grazing area before the wooden fence was assembled along the top of the hill. Now there are segments of this old fence hiding in the leaves serving no purpose, yet putting visitors who enter at risk. Another sign of human intervention, yet very subtle, is a large rock pile at the base of the hill, slightly above the water level of the wetlands. This may appear simply as a pile of rocks to someone who is unaware. However, as one learned on the history in this site, I recognize that this heap of rocks is too concentrated in one small area for it to be naturally occurring. Years ago, when the cleared land on Stone Hill was being cultivated, rocks were cleared from the fields and transferred downhill on stone sleds and dropped in one location, accumulating many rocks in one area. A third sign of human intervention is a long strip of thin, bent, rusted metal. Its use may be speculated; however, I am not certain how, or for what, it was used. I imagine it once belonged to a machine that helped assemble the barbed wire fence. There are several large slabs of concrete scattered in the West Clark Woods and I found one cinder block. Clearly, this plot of land has experienced some human activity over the past couple centuries.

I would be missing potential clues if I were to neglect the signs of natural existence here. I sought out evidence indicating that humans had opted to leave the land alone. The first indication was the rocks scattered throughout the woods. If this land were once used to cultivate crops, there would be land without rocks, for rocks would damage or interfere with plows. In addition, this land would be relatively flat facilitating the planting and sowing processes. The landscape of these woods is hilly. A farmer would undoubtedly grow frustrated while collecting his crops. He even may have tipped his tractor in a daring attempt to plow this sloped terrain. Not only is the land hilly, but also it is uneven. Flat land would suggest that prior inhabitants leveled out the plot for agriculture. However, mounds and pits are apparent, which are the result of natural events. Trees grow tall and die, just as humans do. When trees die, they become weak while still erect. It may only take a firm breeze to knock one over uprooting the base. A hole, or pit, is left in its wake, and as time passes the dirt contained in the lattice of roots falls to the earth and forms a mound with the decomposing tree. This resulting “bumpy” landscape is indicative of natural existence, leading me to conclude that this land was never cultivated.

A soil pit would ratify this conclusion; however, tools are not readily available for use, disabling me from digging into the earth for verification. I drove to the Rosenburg Center to borrow a shovel, but the caretaker was not in. To my dismay, the shed was locked and there was nothing useful lying around the gardens. However, I took this as a blessing in disguise, for digging in the West Clark Woods would be illegal considering it is private property. I imagine the soil in my site would be identical to that of the Torrey Woods, a site we visited two days ago that was never used for cultivation. Its soil had three distinct layers: the O Horizon (organic), the A Horizon (organic-rich and clay-poor), and the B Horizon (clay-rich). If we had dug deeper, a fourth layer (the C Horizon) would have been apparent. Had a shovel been at my disposal, I imagine I would have seen an identical scheme, with the three layers indicating no plowing activity had ever occurred.

I believe my site may have fallen victim to the hands of lumbermen. I believe it was once used as a wood lot. After consulting images taken from this past spring, I believe it is a secondary wood lot, perhaps a hemlock wood lot, for there did not seem to be any rich primary wood lot flowers, no spring ephemerals. I have previously noted lycopods and asters in my site, which are both indicative of a secondary wood lot, leading me to be confident in my assessment.

These sounds were recorded on October 26, 2009. The picture, incidentally, was taken earlier in the season. Access the YouTube video HERE!

Stephen Maier

15 November 2009

Lions and tigers and bears may exist in the forest along the Yellow Brick Road, but horses and cows are the only large animals I can find in the West Clark Woods. However, yesterday, November 14, 2009, I spoke with a local citizen and frequent visitor of Stone Hill, and he enlightened me about the wildlife of Williamstown. He told me that a friend of his saw a bear and two cubs running along Scott Hill Road a week ago. This news silenced me. Bears really do live here. Should I be concerned when venturing into the woods alone? I’d like to think a bear would pick on something his own size, so I rid the grizzly image from my mind.

Today, I have come to take a video of my site. But the weather is dark, cold, dreary, and rainy. There isn’t much happening within the site. However, I do begin to think about where all of this rainwater is going. Not to mention, about two weeks ago the fifty-year flood inundated Williamstown, too. Where does the water drain and why is the wetland not filling up with water? I believe that the rainwater from Stone Hill drains towards the West Clark Woods and runs downhill to the wetlands. This would lead me to believe the wetland has experienced a rise in water level; however I know the water level has resisted fluctuation. The water level has remained nearly constant since my first visit. I believe there is an external drainage at the other end, that may flow beneath Route 2/Route 7, which I have just noticed is visible from my site. This drainage allows water to flow away from the wetland preventing a standing body of water from forming.

Also, the rocks that I discovered and mentioned in a previous journal entry seem to have been dumped here by humans. There are far too many in such a concentrated area to be naturally occurring. They must have been from above, on the cultivated land of Stone Hill.

Reminiscing about the taste of hemlocks also helped connect me to my site. Why were these low lying hemlock trees untouched but the other plants on the ground, such as the honeysuckle, were cleaned of their fruit? The horses, cows, bears, deer, and other animals that roam these woods enjoy the berries but loathe the taste of the hemlock needles, just as I did. The needles not only taste bitter, but they also must torment the stomachs of these animals and perhaps scratch their throats while swallowing. It is no surprise they leave the hemlocks alone.

I recorded a herd of cows grazing in a leaf pile for a minute today. The cows contribute greatly to the dynamics of the West Clark Woods. They are responsible for clearing the grass, and apparently the leaves, and also for the plentiful amounts of cow pies littering the ground. However, they are not entirely to blame for the fecal matter, for the horses, which I interacted with last week, also contribute. The cows and horses, I imagine, consume leaves from the lower, or younger, trees and the berries on trees they can reach. With this in mind, each pile of feces may potentially be planting the next generation of berry bushes in the West Clark Woods. This may not, however, be the best situation, for most of the berry-bearing shrubs are invasive ornamentals, which inhabit and inhibit. They spread and invade the land of the native plants, preventing them from flourishing.

Today, November 15, 2009, I revisited my site to take another look. I wanted to survey the land and film some of its beauty. The camera does not focus on anything in particular. It scans the wetland, and then moves to the woods, then down to a small rock pile, and subsequently to the water flowing towards the wetland. During this, the light is important to notice. Though it is not a sunny day, there is still a difference between light in the forest and light outside, even if it is barely noticeable. All of the leaves of the deciduous trees, the paper, black, and yellow birches, have fallen but there is still cover being provided to the woods. This is due to the coniferous trees; the hemlocks that remain fully covered all year round creating the effect of light outside the woods and darkness within them. This is crucial for the wildlife, for during the winter, the forest provides a place to evade too much snow, and during the summer, the forest provides shade to escape the beating sunshine.

Wrapping things up, the West Clark Woods seem to be a place where the cows and horses can congregate to avoid inclement weather or sunburn. They are the most frequent visitors and I may be next in line. There is still much to learn about these woods, but I come closer and closer to understanding their past with each visit.

Stephen Maier

29 October 2009

This afternoon, Thursday, October 29,2009, I was a little dismayed at how the day had proceeded; therefore, a walk into nature was entirely necessary to lift my spirits. I left my car at 1:33 p.m. with the sun was beaming down and heating Williamstown to a pleasant temperature of 62°F according to the digital thermometer in my dashboard. The worries once existing within me were gone when I noticed the horses grazing at the fence through which I pass on my way into the forest. There were three: one white, one white with Dalmatian spots, and the third was white with brown patches and black spots. They were majestic animals, strong looking and well groomed. I wanted to run my hand down their backs and tell them they picked a beautiful day to take a walk together, but I don’t know horses well enough.

I walked past them and followed the vaguely beaten path into the West Clark Woods. Today’s objective was to explore the various natural tastes existing here. The horses appeared to be enjoying the grass they were devouring, so I extrapolated and tried convincing myself that I, too, would appreciate the flavors of the forest. As my mind wandered over paper birch leaf dinners and hemlock pine needle desserts, I heard something behind me. I turned and noticed the horses poking their heads into the woods, seeming like they were checking on me.

With the sharp onion savor remaining from lunch, it was difficult to smell, let alone taste, anything else. I bit into a tree branch and got nothing in return, besides a bit of a toothache and onion. After trying another branch from the same tree and experiencing the same taste, I knew I needed to clean my palate somehow. Without food or water, there was not much of a choice. I had to press on, so I continued my adventure and chomped on some hemlock needles. Wow! The onion flavor was no match for the hemlock’s powerful taste. After two bites, the Christmas tree scent we associate with winter overwhelmed my senses. I was seeing, tasting, feeling, and smelling Christmas trees, oh, what fine memories. I had to spit out the needles immediately after chomping down, for they were unbearable to chew more than twice. After chewing on several different branches of needles and tasting their pungency, I felt my taste buds were adequately in commission so I surveyed the woods in search of something different to try.

During my wandering for edible entities, I came across four red squirrels, multiple birds, and a snake, leaving me to conclude the animals appreciated the weather, too. The snake was the most impressive of the bunch due to the rare appearance of its species. It was black and roughly a foot and a half long with a yellow stripe running along its ventral side. According to A History of the County of Berkshire, Massachusetts, by Thomas Hunt, et al, this snake is most likely a “striped or streak snake” (p. 41).

After my encounter with the serpent, I found a new shrub about six feet tall with bright green leaves still attached. Its leaves looked appealing and appetizing, so I indulged. It took several tastings prior to extracting a real flavor, but I eventually tasted the skin flavor of a pear or an apple. The leaf, clearly, didn’t have the juice that is so delectable in a pear or an apple, but it did have a hint of the pear or apple flavor. The best way to describe to taste is this: if you were to separate the skin from the inner portion of the pear and eat it, it would be similar in taste to the leaves of this tree. Perhaps this species is related to the species of pear or apple trees.

I didn’t taste much else because the alarming piles of horse feces scattered throughout the woods were enough for me to declare that everything on the ground was off-limits for ingestion. I did, however, sample some paper birch bark, which shared the identical taste of printer paper, and a yellow birch branch that I broke off a small tree myself. The yellow birch’s flavor was not as distinct as it had been four weeks ago on Stone Hill. I concluded the salicylic acid is produced directly proportionally to the leaf growth, in that as chlorophyll is being produced in the tree, salicylic acid is produced simultaneously. After making this hypothesis, I left the woods, just over an hour after I had entered. What a beautiful day.

Stephen Maier

22 October 2009

Tonight I visited the West Clark Woods with a classmate at 6:45 p.m. It was about 60°F and the wind was soft and cooling. The weather created the perfect atmosphere for a night visit. As we approached the entrance to my site, I imagined nocturnal birds sitting in the treetops spying on small rodents scurrying in the brush on the ground. Only equipped with a small flashlight and a cell phone for protection, I envisioned us creeping around the forest until we were startled by some large animal. We would freeze in a moment of role reversal between man and nature. We were the “deer in headlights” stopped in front of a giant buck. The scenes I pictured were fantastic, but unfortunately they remained a fantasy.

As we were about to enter the woods, I stopped dead in my tracks. I was startled and even grew timid. I asked Nathaniel to shine his flashlight into the tree about fifteen yards from us. Something caught my eye, something that had not been there last week or in the weeks prior. Nathaniel moved the light to where I was pointing and we both gasped. Perched on a branch protruding from the tree line was an eerie bird. It reminded me of the vultures from The Jungle Book, however, far more malevolent than the oblivious birds in the children’s movie. It appeared to be approximately 18 inches tall with a long beak that extended about 4-6 inches away from its face. The bird exhibited a gray color, which may have been skewed since we were viewing it in the darkness. It was resting on one long, slender leg looking off into the distance towards the Clark Art Institute. It looked like a relative of the crane, stork, or heron.

Earlier in the semester, when the class gathered to watch birds, we were fortunate enough to spot a great blue heron on the far edge of Eph’s pond. The bird we saw this evening was very similar in silhouette, but slightly smaller to the heron. Clearly they were different colors, but they were also different in demeanor. The heron appeared harmless relaxing in the water enjoying the sunrise; but this bird seemed ominous. It appeared to be on the prowl waiting to attack its next victim. I didn’t move and I didn’t hear Nathaniel move either. I was contemplating my next move, not sure of where to go. If this bird was terrifying me, what would I do if I were to see coyotes or bears or moose? This thought helped me to muster up some courage and enter the woods. However, the image of that bird in the tree didn’t escape my mind.

We found our way to the zero point of my site and briefly surveyed the area around us. The darkness hindered our vision and disabled us from making any observations. So we decided to move to a convenient resting location where we could record the sounds of the woods. Last week, the most action I encountered was in a small hemlock grove that I reached via a barely noticeable path overgrown with thickets and thorns. Therefore, I thought the forest sounds would be represented and amplified best in this location tonight.

The noises there did not prove to be as promising as I had hoped. I closed my eyes allowing my sense of hearing to compensate for my lack of vision, but the animals I assumed to be in nature were inaudible. I heard cars and trucks traveling through the Route 2/Route 7 rotary, leaves rustling on the ground, arbitrary leaves, needles, seeds, and nuts falling from the trees above, and some human voices, which I assume were emanating from the Williamstown Public Library based on from where the sound was resonating. I heard some scampering of small animals through the leaves and a ten second segment of steady calling which sounded like a frog. This was the only evidence of the animals I had assumed were omnipresent in the West Clark Woods.

These sounds were incredibly difficult to locate, for the wind was gusting with high intensity in the woods. I would estimate the wind speed to have been about 8-10 mph at times, highly obstructing our listening capabilities. In the sound recording,nothing is audible save the wind. I intend to return another evening to try my luck again with the animals at night for tonight was relatively unimpressive.

Stephen Maier

17 October 2009

This morning, Saturday, October 17, 2009, I visited the West Clark Woods with a friend. I wanted to share the beauty I have been hoarding to myself within these grounds with someone else; therefore, I asked my roommate if he wanted to join me in nature. He accepted my invitation and we entered at 11:15 a.m. on this clear, 40°F morning.

Our focus this morning was on touch and textures in nature and we wasted no time feeling everything in sight. We picked up sticks, rocks, downed trees, leaves, and anything else in sight. The sticks were dry and lifeless, which was expected, considering they were broken branches on the ground. The rocks were as cold as ice. I picked one up and juggled it in my hands before I had to drop it due to its frigidity. The tree trunks on the ground were saturated with water leading me to believe that some form of heavy moisture soaked this wood. What could be responsible since it hadn’t rained in two days? Perhaps the rain was so forceful all week that the wood was drenched and did not have sufficient time to dry out. Or maybe the dew, which is now turning to frost, seeped into the wood and never evaporated. Complicating my suppositions is the canopy situation. The canopy overhead has thinned with time allowing more sunlight to reach the wood and dry it out, leading me to believe the dampness must be from recent moisture, not the rain showers. However, the lack of canopy also facilitates the penetration of precipitation into the forest, which coaxes me into thinking that the rain may have reached the wood without resistance, therefore saturating it with water that cannot be released over two days. I can’t be sure of really happened.

As soon as we stepped foot in the woods, we noticed the carpet of leaves on the forest floor. If I hadn’t been here before, I would not have been able to tell you what the ground looked like. The birch trees were almost completely leafless. Approximately 75% of all the deciduous trees’ leaves had been shed and created a colorful layer on top of the ground. I picked up a fallen leaf and then extracted a living leaf from a nearby tree of the same species to compare the two. Though the leaves maintain the same shape, their differences are noticeable. The fallen leaf is brownish-orange. It is paper-like in texture and has no friction when I run my fingers along it. On the contrary, the living leaf is green and has prominent veins that can be easily felt. It also has a moist, oil-like texture. Though the two leaves look the same, excluding color, they are very different when inspected with touch.

Our analysis of texture reached its climax when my roommate discovered a shedding paper birch tree. Together we scrutinized the finding. The tree was twenty-five feet tall and had the white, paper-like bark, characteristic of paper birches, on its upper half. Its lower half was intriguing. There was a distinct line where the bark ended and it became a layer of wood that surrounded the trunk. Half of this layer was a dark brown color and the other half was divided between a fiery red color and a saffron color. At the bottom of the tree, the trunk was exposed which helped us determine that the middle layer was neither bark nor tree trunk. Upon this finding, my roommate detached the middle layer from the trunk. He removed it in one piece in shell-like form. We were both in awe. We felt as if we were disassembling a tree, deforming nature. It was a fascinating feeling.

But avoiding our sentiment, the red portion of this layer was soaked while the saffron part was dry. I was curious of two things at this point. Why is some of this layer wet and some of it dry? And why is it divided into several different colors? I had, and still have, no credible speculation for either question. Perhaps the middle layer was only attached to the tree at the dark brown end and the tree was still providing moisture to it, but the water did not travel throughout the entire layer of wood and left half of it dry. But that doesn’t consider an explanation for the color. I am eager to consult someone of higher knowledge to understand what is occurring on this birch.

Stephen Maier

Thursday, 10 October 2009

Today, Thursday, October 10^th, is the first dry day of the week. There is no rain and no moisture on the ground. It is a perfect day to venture into the woods, as the sun is out with few clouds blocking, the temperature is around 60°F, and I finally have some downtime. I approach the West Clark Woods with a mission: I want to focus on the animals and small life in the vicinity. I have had great luck over the past four weeks in these woods locating fauna and forest life and I hope today will be no different. This feeling of fortune travels throughout my body as I approach the entrance. It’s going to be a good day! I gaze ahead towards the summit of Stone Hill and I see horses and cows grazing in the land while humans walk through. Animal life should be booming today. Seeing these animals on the hill seems to confirm that the animals appreciate the weather too.

I enter the site at 1:45 p.m. and immediately seek out the large tracks I had spotted on my visit last week. I trust they will provide insight about these woods. As I traverse the woods descending the hill to the northwest, I get my first glimpse of small life. A tiny, half-inch spider with all eight legs in tact crawls across the blank page of my journal. I wish I had seen from where he had come, but just seeing him is satisfying enough. As he inspects the white paper, I wonder, Why is it that little insects like to use my things as landing pads? First a dragonfly landed on my computer. Subsequently a fly took advantage of the white keyboard. A tussock moth caterpillar somehow crept onto a page of my journal without my noticing. Now, this spider scrambles on the page… I am pleased, for my luck with the wild has yet to run out.

I follow the tracks to the path I had discovered last week. I navigate through the now familiar woods on this small trail with what seem to be horse-hoof prints. A large pile of feces, just off the trail, supports my speculation, but I refuse to conclude these are horses until I actually see a horse or two in these woods. The path leads to an open grove on a small hill with scattered eastern hemlocks. I notice a small opening at the bottom of the slope, so I pursue it. Smaller tracks lead to a tiny clearing, perhaps 5’x5’. I find an abundance of Japanese barberry shrubs and apples scattered on the forest floor. My mind wanders. What animals would eat berries and/or apples and has four-toed tracks much smaller than those of a horse? Perhaps there are foxes, coyotes, deer, or some other small animals here that visit when I’m gone.

I take a break from my investigating. I lie supine beneath the hemlocks in the grove. It only takes a minute or two before my mind begins to question again. I am certain that there are bears in the Berkshires, but do any of them call the West Clark Woods home? This would be prime real estate for them. The hemlocks are thick enough to climb; the branches appear strong enough to support their weight and the tree limbs are plentiful enough to assist in the ascent.

While I am busy thinking, several birds begin to sing and disrupt my thought processes. I wait a little while, closing my eyes to enjoy their songs and their voices seem to be growing louder. Slowly, I turn around to peak. There are about six small, brown birds with black and white faces in the thickets behind me. They appear to be searching for food. These birds were not the only wildlife keeping me company, though. On the hill in the grove, I see the tail of a squirrel darting up a tree. It suddenly stops, then begins calling up the tree. I have never heard a squirrel make a sound prior to now and I am shocked. It is now 2:45 p.m. and I decide to leave. On my way out, a small red squirrel sits on a downed tree munching on an acorn. If we could communicate, I’d tell him to enjoy his lunch. I never did see the horse, but I will be back next week with high hopes.

Stephen Maier

It is Thursday, October 1, 2009, and the summer-like weather is waning away. Autumn is but a week old yet it feels as though summer left us months ago. My focus this afternoon is on scents in the woods. However, Diane Ackerman notes in her book, Smell, that human dependence on the sense of smell diminished when humans emerged from the water and grew upright, and when “vision and hearing became more important for survival.” Smell is no longer as vital a function for us to survive, so I approach my assignment somewhat skeptically. The cold is going to hinder my capability of smelling, but I will sniff through it. It is about 50°F and overcast with a firm breeze.

I enter the West Clark Woods at 2:20 p.m. at the same spot as my last visit here nearly two weeks ago, September 19^th. It has become a familiar exit from the fast-paced college life and an entry to a pacifying, carefree, natural world. Upon first glance, it appears not much has changed. So I walk down the hill to the water to investigate. During my descent I notice something different. I crouch down to determine if my instincts are correct, and judging by the smell emitted from this substance, I believe it is feces, just as I had suspected. It looks much nicer in a clump on the forest floor than smeared beneath the soles of my sneakers, so in this moment I am happy. I continue down to the water’s edge and find that the water level has risen significantly over the past two weeks. The New England Asters near the banks are no longer growing, but the multitude of asters about ten feet offshore is still very colorful. The yellow birch living on the island is no longer colorful like it had been before, for its leaves have all “fall-en.” I look up above me to see if anything else has fully shed its leaves, but it appears that this particular birch is the only tree totally naked. Nearly all of the yellow birches around me, which were green two weeks ago, are half green-half yellow conjuring up a comparison to lemon-lime Gatorade. There is one mussel wood, the only non-hemlock or birch in the vicinity, with tough, gray bark and its green leaves have mostly changed to orange.

There are two large beds of rocks at the site. One sits in a shallow pool of water slightly uphill and northeast of the wetland. It is full of quartzite rocks, all similar to the next, with three phyillite rocks mixed in. It appears that these rocks were moved together by some weather, or they were dumped at this particular location in this odd but unique formation. The other patch of rocks forms an outline to what looks to be a downhill stream or outlet of running water. These rocks, also quartzite, align linearly and lead me to believe that water from the grazing land outside of the woods runs downhill looking for a place to settle and uses this line as its path to the wetland at the bottom of the hill. The wetland must be sourced by precipitation running from higher elevation, such as the top of Stone Hill. I find a path cut through the brush and follow it in search of an outlet for this water. It leads to a different bank of the wetland, this time looking from the north. However, I can’t find an escape route for the water so I surmise this must be its final resting place. The most curious feature of this idle water is it’s surprising lack of odor. All other standing water I have ever seen also smelled.

The cold air has the scent of autumn. It brings along that crisp, fresh smell that always comes with the fall season. I break a branch off a yellow birch tree and inhale the scent emitted from its interior. It is a smell that brings me back to my childhood, sitting at an Italian restaurant with my family and washing down a piece of my father’s chicken parmesan with a mouthful of birch beer. There isn’t much else permeating the air. The smells of the wild are more for the animals than for humans. Humans emit pheromones for humans and I am alone in the woods, so I smell the crisp air and the birch, but not much else. I exit the woods at 3:25 p.m. with a final breath of fresh forest air.

Stephen Maier

As Amy Hempel notes in Seeing, nature is a “now-you-see-it, now-you-don’t affair.” Blinking can lead to the fate of al

lowing one bee to fly past and pollinate a plant just beneath you without your noticing.  Or you look down to tie your shoes and you hear the footsteps of a squirrel scampering away. Or a tree rustles and you realize the bird is gone. It is true that time is of the essence. So much can change with so little time. Even just a week can change the way a site in nature looks. Though I have yet to familiarize myself with where I am headed, the West Clark Woods, I am familiar with its surroundings. Just over a week ago, I was sitting in a clearing absorbing nature around Wall Pond, which lies about a quarter of a mile southeast of the West Clark Woods. As I walk past it today, its lilies configure a new design in the water and the animal life I had seen days before is not present. But today, Saturday, September 19, 2009, I have a new opportunity, a chance to explore a place foreign to me.

I enter the West Clark Woods from the east at 11:46 a.m., where an established cow path intersects with a trail cleared by humans. I only need two steps to recognize the landscape. Paper birch and hemlock trees inhabit a hilly terrain. The ground is layered with a wispy coat of fallen foliage. It creates a carpet for all to walk on. As I descend further into the woods I reach the base of the slope, about fifty yards down. Here sits a small, idle body of water thickly populated by New England Asters. There is a small island about twenty feet from the banks where I stand. An overgrown, dead thicket lives on the small piece of land, but a twenty foot tall Yellow Birch dominates the other flora there. I proceed to scan the forest finding several traces of man’s presence in nature. A tennis ball, faded over time, sits in the wetland covered by a single, broken branch. An empty beer can conspicuously lies in the middle of a clearing on the hill. And a broken, black, plastic flowerpot hides in the dark underbrush on the edge of the water.

To the north are more trees, most standing but some downed. The sun penetrates the edges of the woods from the east and the canopy blocks any light from entering into the clearing I stand in. The temperature is a balmy 60°F due to the lack of sunshine, but the brisk breeze feels icy in the shade; walking along the cow path seemed about ten degrees warmer. In the south is more tree life, but upon further inspection, I notice animal prints in the mud. The tracks are large and hoofed leading me to consider the obvious. I ponder for a minute. If I came in on a cow path, there must be cows. And in typical New England farm settings, horses accompany cows; therefore horses must travel into the woods and down the hill to drink the water. The wetland is due west. Anxious for more, I look beyond the asters and the single Yellow Birch protruding from this island. The silhouette of a mountain range paints an aesthetic view off in the distance. I am curious as to which mountains those are. The clear blue sky above helps complement the view and I stand in awe. This is a hearty awakening in multiple aspects. First, this is a glorious way to start a Saturday morning, and second, natural beauty is far more enticing than all that is artificial.

As I start to pack my bag to depart, I begin to wonder. Does this wetland exist year-round? Why are there so many fallen trees? Was there a blight or has the weather contributed to this damage? The sounds of a plane overhead and a dump truck on Route 7 interrupt my thoughts and it is back to reality. It is now 12:56 p.m. I climb the hill to exit the West Clark Woods only to be greeted by a four-legged ball of love. The sable rough collie licks my face and I am told he is fourteen. Life sure is beautiful no matter how old you are.

Overhead view sketched of the surroundings of the West Clark Woods.

3-season video of Clark Art West woods