Video Recording @ Hopkins By: Claudia Corona             11/15/09

There was an hour until sundown when I had walked into Ford Glen Brook. I decided to come this late in the day because I was hoping to get video recording of any animals that usually start to come out later in the day for nightly escapades.

I decided to make my first video recording about 20 meters from the trail entrance, so that I would be able to capture more of the processes going on in the forest. I stood in the middle of the forest and made a 360 degree turn with my camera, in order to show how everything looked here at this time.

It was a quieter day than usual, there was no pitter-patter of rain drops on leaves, no rustling of leaves, even the brook seemed quieter. Since the last time I had visited, not much rain had fallen on the college, or Hopkins Forest. Trail lines were blurred by piles of leaves, dead branches, and the lack of plant growth on the edges. Most of the trees had now completely lost their leaves, putting up a stark whitish-grey contrast against the dimming blue-orange sky. The only trees that hadn’t lost their leaves yet and wouldn’t for the rest of the season were the Hemlock trees. The reason for this is because Hemlocks are adapted to cope with heavy to very heavy winter snowfall and tolerate ice storms better than most other trees, which would explain why they still maintain their evergreen leaves while every other tree species is bare and pale.

The trail I was on was muddy and wet with small pools of water here and there. Last week there had been a small stream trickling down this very same trail that eventually ended up filling a small pool of water to the side of the path. But now, the stream no longer had the water volume to stay together as one single body of water. The lack of significant rain this past week most likely attributed to it breaking of into random small pools of water. If there had been more consistent rain, the middle of the Ford Glen Brook trail would probably have a bigger, stronger stream coursing through it, on its way down to meet the brook.

Walking to the brook, the loudest noise that I could here was the crunching of leaves, thanks to my hiking boots. Dry brown leaves, fallen pine cones and ferns were all that I could see on the ground. I noticed that the sounds of rushing water weren’t as loud as before. As I walked closer to the brook, I noticed that the amount of water in the brook had noticeably decreased. I could see where the water level had risen to before, about half-a-foot above its current height. The lack of rain also explained why the brook was not as “filled” or loud as before, there was less water to hit the rocks, to smack against the fallen logs, or to just run through the brook, which is why the brook seemed lacking in hubbub.

It was around 4:15 p.m. when I started hiking back up from the brook and towards the trail. It was getting darker, and I wanted to leave before nightfall, but then I noticed the sunset.  It was the first time since I’d begun journaling at this site that I had seen a sunset; usually, there were trees blocking the sunlight with their branches of leaves, but not this time. Just like there were no leaves to be rustled by the wind, there were no leaves to stop the sun from sending its last rays of light through the forest, illuminating the forest for a couple more seconds, just before it set behind the mountains, and nightfall spread across the sky.

The sites witnessed today, of bare trees, dry leaves, and no fauna show how this site is ready for winter. Trees have shed their leaves to store energy, and plants have receded underground to stay in during the winter months. It seems like this site is ready to “sleep” and have the seasons blanket the site with layer upon layer of snow. It shouldn’t be too long now until it snows, especially since we are now halfway through November and winter is only a couple of weeks away.