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.
First of all, I’m super jealous you keep seeing dogs at your sites – the biggest animal I’ve seen is a mallard and they keep flying away from me every time I get close. The West Clark Woods seem like they have a story to tell. From what you’ve said and the questions you’ve asked (particularly about how the apparent damage to the landscape has come to pass), I’m really intrigued. What is the history of this land? Is it pasture, as you have surmised? Probably, but what before that? The things we’ve been learning about bedrock geology tell the story of way, way, way back, but this piques my interest about what it was like before European settlers and after the Pleistocene. Who knows what you’ll find in the area to answer that question and perhaps its best left unanswered, but I’d be interested to know what you find out.