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Patience of the Predator

Patience of the Predator

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Yesterday was a day for wild things. I spotted a doe and a box turtle in the woods, and then, while dining al fresco last evening, was visited by a red-shouldered hawk.

The bird landed on the deck railing, just a few feet from the dinner table, and scanned the landscape. I suppose he was wanting his own dinner, perhaps a chipmunk or squirrel. For a few chilling moments I wondered if it might be me. 

The hawk perched for what seemed like forever, long enough for me to slowly turn in the chair and keep my eyes on him, long enough for me to become restless. I had finished my dinner; he’d yet to have his.

My phone was inside, so I missed the chance to photograph him. Instead, I tried to memorize his details: the long, substantial chest; the yellow legs, hooded eyes and beak that meant business. He was completely still as he surveyed the terrain, able to spot the faintest trace of movement. 

What impressed me most was his patience. He was prepared to wait all night if need be. His was a patience born of need, the patience of the predator.

(A hawk I photographed several years ago. Last night’s visitor was much closer.)

Lovely, Dark and Deep

Lovely, Dark and Deep

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It’s less than three weeks till summer solstice. By 5 a.m. the first birds are singing, and darkness doesn’t fall till almost 9 p.m. At this time of year, light is our constant companion. 

Perhaps that’s why the woods appeal. They are, to quote Robert Frost, “lovely, dark and deep.” Though he described a winter landscape, mine is a summery one: oaks, maples and sycamore in full leaf, the path that winds through them sheltered and shady.

What mysteries lie down these trails? What refreshment will they bring? Will the woods be cooler than the street? These are questions I want to answer — and will. 

Woods in White

Woods in White

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The main roads were plowed by Saturday, but wind chill kept me inside. By yesterday, though, temps edged up to the high 30s, and I was itching to leave the house. Would the Reston trails be clear? 

Some were, and those that weren’t I avoided, snapping a photo instead. 

I trod paths I haven’t walked in a while, passed the “laughing tree,” which now sports a white mustache. 

There was a thin layer of frosting on bowed limbs, like a squiggle of toothpaste on a toothbrush. 

I hiked for more than an hour. I was not alone. 

Wandering Home

Wandering Home

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As much as I extoll the practice, walking in the suburbs is largely for exercise and mental refreshment, for perspective. It’s difficult to run errands or visit folks without jumping in the car.

But yesterday I had time to amble through the woods to meet a friend, who lives on the other side of a county forest.

On the way there I had my eye on the clock, picking up the pace to reach her house more or less when I said I would. But on the way home I savored the green splendor of the stroll, birds ruffling the underbrush, stream water pouring over and around a flat rock.

It felt like rain, clammy and portentous. I took my time, reveled in the mood and the moment. I wandered home.

Loop Walk

Loop Walk

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Can confusion be knit into a landscape? Is there something about a particular topography, no matter how serene it appears, that can turn our heads? Would I be asking these questions if I didn’t think there was? Yesterday I took a path I’ve hiked several times before. Once again, I paused at the juncture of three trails. Once again, I chose the “wrong” path.

Or was it? This trail led me into a cool green forest along the Snakeden Branch. I took deep breaths, heard a bird I didn’t recognize. I knew approximately where I was. No need for panic. In fact, when the trail spit me out on a major thoroughfare, I realized there was circular potential.

The rails-to-trails marvel that is the W&OD was nearby, and the path I missed intersected it. If I could find that juncture, I could take a loop walk. The W&OD was sunny, and I wasn’t sure how long I would be on it. Just when I thought I’d missed the crossroads, I saw the sign and escaped through a bright meadow into deep shade.

It was a different walk than the one I meant to take, but a good one just the same.

A Benediction

A Benediction

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The first thing I notice is the scent. The air is perfumed, mid-May incarnate. Early honeysuckle? I don’t think so. Viburnum perhaps?  I inhale as I walk, which supercharges each step. 

The next thing I notice is the mud. It’s been only a few days since I last walked in the woods, but it’s rained hard since then, and paths that were packed are now spongy, pliable.  My boots leave an impression. 

The stream is gurgling. The forest has greened and expanded with the much-needed moisture. It has moved up and out. It holds me as I walk, sifts its stillness down, a gift, a benediction.  

Wiki Woods

Wiki Woods

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It has much in common with a wiki site, this woods I walk in; it’s the work of many. The invasive plant eradication I mentioned yesterday is part of it. But even the paths themselves are forged and kept alive by many footfalls. Given the amount of undergrowth out there, it wouldn’t take long to lose the trail. 

And then there are the bridges, a motley crew if ever there was one: A clutch of bamboo poles, handcrafted spans made from planks and two-by-fours, and then the places where it seems people just laid down a few pieces of lumber. 

Some of the bridges are for crossing Little Difficult Run, which meanders through the woods, steep-banked in spots. But others are for navigating the hidden springs and muddy parts of the trail. All of them necessary. All of them welcome. 

It takes a village to make a woods walk. 

Protecting the Forest

Protecting the Forest

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I’d resisted for days, but today I gave in. I reached down and pulled up a few garlic mustard plants, an edible but invasive species I’ve learned of recently, mostly from seeing pulled and trampled stems on the trail. 

It’s tall with a few delicate white flowers. At first, I admired it. But then I learned how it can dominate the ground cover in a forest, driving out the natives.

Walks are when I think and listen to music, when ideas percolate. I don’t want to wear garden gloves and trudge through the woods with a bucket and spade. But these plants pull up so easily that I hardly broke my stride getting rid of them.  If everyone pulled up a few stalks, there would be no more garlic mustard in our woods.

In the end, it’s elemental: When we notice, we care. And when we care, we protect. 

(Photo: Wikimedia)

Greening

Greening

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When I walk through the woods these days, or even when I look out the window from my upstairs office, the world I see is a symphony of green.

It’s happened so quickly, this greening. Less than two weeks ago, the forest was still a winter one, especially given that many of the early flowering trees are the ones people plant in their yards not the ones that grow naturally on their own. 

But whether cultivated or wild, the world is greening, and I wish I could hold onto it this way. 

Welcome Wreath

Welcome Wreath

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I began to spot them in the forest a few days ago, although from the looks of it they’d been there for a while. The wreaths seem homemade, maybe fashioned from local boughs. 

This one is special though, decorated as it is with an eagle feather. 

Welcome back, the wreath says. Welcome back to the eagles, more common in these parts than they used to be.

Welcome back to the foxes, who prowl and hunt and make their home.

Welcome back to the walkers, including this one.