Dec. 11

Saturday was a good day at Forest Hill for a hike with my dog, Remi.  Exiting the car at 11:00am and walking west toward Bobolink Meadow, I was greeted with overcast skies, light fog, a 33-degree temperature and a gusty wind out of the southeast. Tiny patches of snow dotted the trail. As I passed by Mallard Marsh, I noticed that the water level remained quite low despite the autumn rains.  I suspected the Great Blue Heron that spent most of the summer fishing and frogging there had migrated to warmer latitudes. Bobolink Meadow was blanketed with fuzzy beige seeds of Goldenrod.  This was in sharp contrast to the yellow hue of Goldenrod flowers that covered this grassland back in September. Punctuating this drab landscape were clumps of golden Reed Canary Grass. Arriving at Willow Wallow, I saw a few fluffy cattail heads standing along the water’s edge. Next to the trail through Succession Field, I noticed several leafless Indian Hemp plants with lance-like seedpods hanging from their deep burgundy stems. Continuing along the south side of Succession Field, I passed through the stand of immature White Birch and Quaking Aspen. Up on Artist Overlook, I observed many dead willows protruding through the ice on the southwest corner of Sora Swale.  Continuing down the trail, I saw a solitary Chickadee fluttering through the willows of Frog Fen as it sang its familiar song . From the top of Reflection Hill, I noticed the absence of Canadian Goose scat on the trail.  Since Grebe Pond was covered with a solid layer of ice, I suspected the resident goose population had left for the winter in search of open water. Descending Reflection Hill, I headed for the Classroom Building. Continuing past the Storage Building, I was surprised to see a couple of yellow Dandelion blossoms on the ground so late in the year. The car was waiting for me. I drove south toward Alma and a warm house.

That’s no December sky!

Surely ‘tis June

Holds now her state on high


Queen of the noon.

Only the tree-tops bare

Crowning the hill,

Clear-cut in perfect air,

Warn us that still

Winter, the aged chief,

Mighty in power,

Exiles the tender leaf,

Exiles the flower.

Robert Fuller Murray