January 2

Saturday would have been a good day at Forest Hill for a hike with my dog, Remi. However, New Year’s Day festivities caused me to postpone my hike until Sunday morning. It was nice to return to the sites and sounds of the Nature Area after a long holiday break. Leaving the car, I was greeted by light snow flurries, a gusty west wind and a temperature of 20 degrees. Since most of the snow disappeared during the recent thaw, only a light dusting covered the trail. Looking west, I noticed, in the distance, the dark leafless treetops of North Woods silhouetted against a partly cloudy sky. As I walked through Bobolink Meadow, I observed some faint 3-toed Ringed Neck Pheasant tracks. Circling around the north end of Succession Field, I saw imbedded in the snow the familiar split-hoof tracks of the Whitetail Deer.  Walking along the west side of succession field, I observed a few Black-Capped Chickadees flittering among the trees. Entering South Woods, I noticed some Fox Squirrel tracks on the snow-covered boardwalk. Following the South Woods trail, I became aware of the variety of bark textures on tree trunks including the shaggy bark of the Hickory, the scaly bark of the Black Cherry, the smooth bark of the Ironwood and the prickly bark of the Hawthorn. Before leaving South Woods, I scared up a few deer. I’m amazed how these large mammals can run through the underbrush and barely make a sound. I hiked past Artist Overlook and continued along the south trail.  Instead of taking my usual route and turning toward Reflection Hill, I continued east past the tall White Pines in Brady Cemetery and turned north onto the Native Grassland. Even though everything was snow-covered and barren on this 10-acre plot, I hoped the warm-season grasses and wildflowers that we planted last summer will take off in the spring. Continuing along the east side of Grebe Pond, I meandered toward the big red barn and the end of another hike. Once in the car, I drove east down the driveway, past the row of six tall Norway Spruce and turned for home.

One must have a mind of winter


To regard the frost and the boughs


Of the pine-trees crusted with snow;

And have been cold a long time


To behold the junipers shagged with ice,

The spruces rough in the distant glitter



Of the January sun; and not to think


Of any misery in the sound of the wind,

In the sound of a few leaves,

Which is the sound of the land


Full of the same wind


That is blowing in the same bare place


For the listener, who listens in the snow,

And, nothing himself, beholds


Nothing that is not there and the nothing that is

Wallace Stevens