[Stuart and Margaret Osha have their priorities set straight. Making a batch of tomato sauce and repairing a section of fence IS enough work for the day, especially if it’s one of those rare days clinging to summer in September. Today’s featured image is Indian Cucumber. All photos by Margaret Osha. SB SM]
by Silverbelle Margaret
This morning I made a batch of sauce for the freezer with tomatoes I picked yesterday while Stuart put up a new section of fence for the sheep. We decide that’s enough work for one day after all, it is a Saturday and the woods are calling to us. Why do today what we can put off until tomorrow? After all, life has no guarantees so why live like it does? So we pack up the truck and head over the mountain to West Hill, a section of the National Forest in Granville. West Hill was a farming community up until the 1940s when the Forest Service purchased nearly thirty hill farms comprising the Green Mountain National Forest.
In what was once Rob Ford’s hayfield we ate our egg salad sandwiches on the tailgate of the truck. Hoisting ourselves up onto the tailgate isn’t nearly as easy as it once was. It’s a good thing nobody is watching. Worth the effort of a splendid seat we admire the changing foliage colors against the rugged mountainside view. After eating our lunch we head up the hill to the height of the land. At least two other farm families besides the Fords scratched out a living on this part of the mountain. Only the cellar holes, stone fountains, and stone walls remain. The Forest Service maintains the open land that was once hay fields; brush hogging only often enough to keep the open spaces open every three years or so.
We just so happen to be in luck today and find the fields recently cut. We can explore the perimeters of the grassland without worrying quite so much about picking up any eight-legged hitchhikers in the name of ticks.
Look! There’s a passageway in the far corner that we haven’t noticed before in the past. Excited, we enter a short section of woods. A break in the stone wall that was the original gateway leads to yet another hidden meadow.
A new slant of light is signaling the changing season. There’s a stippled light in the underbrush this late afternoon.
Fall brings an end to the unrelenting heat and oppressive humidity of summer. On this beautiful autumn day, we breathe in the magic and surrender to the mystery of this special place.
Never bring our world into the wilderness—that is our rule.
I’ve observed several species of goldenrod today. Over a hundred species of this native grow in the US of which a dozen or so are found in Vermont. Growing alongside the goldenrod are wild asters, another native autumn bloomer bordering the meadow’s edge.
Several species of this native grow in Vermont. We’ve observed at least three today.
Sizable pasture pines dot the meadow landscape. We breathe in their lovely resinous fragrance as we pass by. Look! A passageway through the trees reveals yet another hidden meadow. The pasture pines in this meadow have been grossly manipulated by the white pine weevil more so than in the previous meadow. The destructive weevil responsible is a native that causes a lot of economic damage to fir trees with a preference in taste for young eastern white pine growing in sunny open spaces.
The female pierces the topmost shoot of the tree called the leader and deposits her eggs. The larvae pupate beneath the bark and feed, killing the tree’s leader. When this happens the tree sends up another leader which is also susceptible to attack and so it goes.
Pasture pines are not worth much from a logger’s perspective. Instead of growing straight and true, pasture pines are deformed and multi-stemmed holding little value for lumber.
In the last hidden meadow, the open space turns into a deep forest. On the forest’s edge a group of white pines are spared from the weevils’ piercing cut, being protected and nurtured by the shade of the hardwoods. Even though we have come to the last of the hidden meadows our discoveries for today are far from over. On our way back to the truck a small deciduous tree with the most beautiful bright red berries catches my eye. I’ve identified the tree as a Crataegus holmesiana commonly called a Holmes Hawthorn. Crataegus is derived from the Greek word “kratos” which means strength. The dense wood of hawthorn trees makes for good tool handles. There are several hundred species of hawthorn trees growing in this country.
Instead of taking the woods road on our way back to the truck, we walk the field where a camping spot with a spectacular view gives way to a section of field filled with dogbane also known as Indian Hemp. I’ve never seen such a concentration of plants. The mowing has invigorated growth.
Today’s astonishing discoveries successfully conclude this Green Mountain National Forest walk in the woods.
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