December 2

On Tuesday, Remi and I returned to Forest Hill Nature Area after being away for a month. The early morning weather was partly sunny, 18 degrees and a slight wind out of the southeast. At the crest of the hill, I paused to gaze west at a landscape that was snowless due to recent temperatures in the 40’s and 50”s. Meanwhile, I thought about what this same view was like 6 months ago. Descending the hill, I glanced south and counted about a dozen deer running up Reflection Hill. I then stopped at Mallard Marsh to admire the well-constructed lodge and envision the Muskrats that will hunker down inside for the winter. I proceeded through a stark Bobolink Meadow and continued through North Woods where I noticed the large vernal pond in the center was nearly full. Also, several tree branches, large and small, littered the ground. Exiting the woods, I turned west and looked up to see a familiar harbinger of winter, the Northern slate-colored Junco. Turning south along the western-most trail, I remembered this same view 6 months ago. Next, I entered South Woods and stepped out onto our new boardwalk where I was surprised to see a large turtle swimming just beneath a thin, clear layer of ice. Back on the trail, I noticed again the large amount of tree branches scattered on the forest floor. Exiting the woods, I next stopped at Artist Overlook where I looked down at an overflowing Sora Swale through clusters of hips from Multi-flora Rose. Following south trail as it turned east, I could hear and see both a Nuthatch and a Chickadee. I passed Frog Fen, turned south and approached Brady Cemetery where I noticed a nest nestled among the thorns of a Hawthorne tree and thought about the wise bird that built it there to fend off predators. Turning north at Brady Cemetery, I hiked through Native Grassland and came to the edge of Grebe Pond to remember this same vista back in June. Finally, I continued north past the barn to the parking lot for my car and our trip home.

Dawn of December

Cycle of nature slows

Leaf litter of brown

Dusted by early snows

Down earthen tunnels

Go the meadow mice

Over the vacant pond

Brittle layer of ice

Wild sounds are few

No buzzing of bees

Only a Chickadee’s call

Heard among the trees

D. DeGraaf