We’re headed for the mid-nineties today, so the dog and I were out extra early for our morning walk. Fortunately, our dog can’t tell time; if it’s light out, he’s good to go. My sister Marilyn’s dog can tell time to within a five-minute tolerance, at least if the time in question has to do with food: snack time, for instance, or dinner time. Rascal, in any case, feels most any time is good for something yummy, or for a walk.
Seeking a shady route this morning, I steered us onto a path we don’t usually travel. We weren’t more than a few steps into this less-traveled woods when Longfellow’s words sprang to mind. “This is the forest primeval.” The woods we’re in most often are oak-hickory woods, with lots of healthy, mature trees, moderate understory, and lots of flowers. Light filters peacefully down from on high, vistas are lovely, and all seems right with the world.
Today’s woods is a different experience altogether. It featured primarily ash trees. Some years back, the emerald ash borer arrived in our part of the world and killed pretty much every ash tree around. Borer larvae make trails underneath the bark of the trees, destroying the trees’ ability to pump fluids either up or down, and thus to survive. The bark falls off; the trees die.
The former ash woods looks apocalyptic, these days. Dead ash trees lie in bare, random piles, like all that’s left of some ruined civilization. Losing the ashes opened the tree canopy to a great degree. It’s shady in that woods again, as other trees are growing up, but the understory is prolific. Plant life crowds from either side of a path that’s narrow to start with, precluding views in pretty much any direction. When we venture into that woods, it feels like filing a flight plan might have been prudent. Rascal enjoys going there, though, as he values variety in his walks, and his sense of smell works in any kind of woods.
Sue and I walked around Thurston Pond recently, to see what we could see. We were only a few steps into this woods when we heard the most amazing bullfrog. The noise that critter made stopped us both in our tracks. When it stopped its mighty foghorning, we turned to look at each other and realized we’d both been standing there slack-jawed while we listened. Sue opined it had sounded like a boat, and she was right.
We spotted a four-inch-ish frog sitting on a snag, later in that walk, but if it was the frog we’d heard earlier, it certainly had range. A woman walking by with her small dog tucked under her arm told us that, on rainy days, a bunch of frogs likes to perch in a line along that same log. Why was our informant doing all the walking in her dog walk? “Frances is fourteen years old,” the woman said. “She’s still good for half a walk, but not for all of it. So she does what she can and still enjoys it.” Dogs set us fine examples in so many ways.
Sue and I also saw many turtles out basking on that hot day, their domed shells reflecting the sunlight. The memory of it flashed to mind this afternoon, as my husband and I drove back from Chelsea. Now that Master Tech has gone out of business, Chelsea’s the nearest place that had the parts we needed to get us back to a functioning dishwasher.
So what reminded me? Silos. Their domed tops glinting in the sunshine, visible here and there against the green of everything growing in farmers’ fields, looked like so many turtles. Who knew silos basked?
We chose the route home from Chelsea that takes us through Dexter. Or, more to the point, past the Dexter A&W drive-in, that purveyor cold drinks on a warm afternoon. Eschewing the lemonade-flavored shake that’s on special, my husband ordered a strawberry malt. I opted for iced tea. But, as pleasant as our cool treats were, mine was not the best thing I’d had today.
Nope, that was the first wild black raspberry of the season, plucked from a bush in the Sugarbush woods this morning. It was quite a surprise to see the black berry among all the other barely pink berries growing on the same cane. Could that really be a ripe one so early in the season? I gave it the gentlest pull, and it came off in my hand. It was sweet and wonderfully seedy. Maybe another one will be ready next time.
14 June 2024