November 4

Amid mostly cloudy skies and a temperature just above freezing, I’m hiking a wide, groomed trail into Forest Hill Nature Area. Having walked this 90- acre property thousands of times during my 23 years of developing and managing it, I’m glad to see it remains protected land where humans and wildlife interact. Right away, I notice the blossoms of Goldenrod that only a short time ago colored this meadow yellow, have seeded out to a fluffy beige. Not surprisingly, the soft, muddy trail displays several deer tracks as well as a few patches of snow left over from a recent dusting. Turning north, I pass Raspberry leaves that have turned a burgundy red before rounding the corner and pausing to look and listen as a formation of noisy geese fly high overhead. Entering South Woods, I make my way to a favorite spot- the edge of Swanson Swamp where I spent many hours observing wildlife and enjoying the natural quietude. From here, I continue north through the woods where I discover some wrinkled crust orange fungi growing on a decaying birch tree trunk as well as ogee tunnels of ash borer larvae under a decaying ash tree. Leaving the woods, I’m puzzled by a lone Maple tree whose leaves have yet to change color and drop. Making my way west through a corridor of white birch, I then turn north past oaks still holding their leaves before entering North Woods where the once dense canopy is almost leafless. Following the meandering trail eastward past the swollen vernal pond, I notice that many of the small Beech trees retain their leaves, many still green. Out of the woods, I head south to Willow Wallow where a few noisy Mallards take to flight. High and afar, I can barely make out the silhouette of a solitary Starling perched on a leafless branch. Turning east, I circle the top of Reflection Hill and pause to take notice of a tree of ripe crab apples as well as to gaze down on Grebe Pond and the Raske Barn beyond. Continuing east, I come to the edge of the pond where a newly built muskrat lodge catches my eye. Following the trail around the edge of the pond to the north, I spot a few toxic Nightshade berries. Heading south through the native grassland, I am pleased to see a new shelter constructed at the geology station. Ending the hike at my car, I pause to glance south at historic Brady Cemetery and reminisce about the many times I gave tours to school groups.

The stripped and shapely
Maple grieves
The ghosts of her
Departed leaves.

The ground is hard,
As hard as stone.
The year is old,
The birds are flown.

And yet the world,
In its distress,
Displays a certain
Loveliness

John Updike