My favorite walk is around my backyard. Although this may seem rather common, my yard is still new to me and very much an evolving space. Four years ago my backyard was a dense forest filled with pines, oaks, and poison ivy. The thick trees were covered with poison ivy vines as was the undergrowth. Needless to say, I rarely walked through the forest. To add to one’s discomfort, in the woods the deer tick population almost guaranteed one would leave a short hike with unwanted companions. The woods were not a friendly place to visit.
Then four years ago came The Tornado. In an instant, the woods that had grown to maturity over the past 100 years was gone. Broken and up-rooted trees were all that remained where there was once a dense and dark forest. I must confess, my initial reaction — like everyone else — was horror and shock. After the clean up and the salvage of a few small trees our secluded yard, once almost a part of the forest with 80 foot majestic pines, was now as barren as a new housing development. And where the forest had been was a vast sea of dirt and mud.
In the four years since that pivotal event, I have come to embrace the change. We now have an open space with views and sunlight, we have sunrises and sunsets. We have gardens.
My walk starts at my back door. I stroll across the yard, behind the shed into the field which was previously forest. The dead trees left standing tower overhead. They are bare with jutting limbs and peeling bark. These relics are the landing sites for an amazing variety of bird-life. A pair of pileated woodpeckers nests in one. With a screech, the male returns to relieve his mate. She pokes her head out of the hole we watched them build. They quickly exchange places before the grackles can attack their eggs. The great blue heron lands on a limb and gazes out over the vast wetland created by beavers. A flicker pecks vigorously on a dead tree filled with delightful insects. A pair of mockingbirds fool the listener with their varied songs. A red tailed hawk eyes the rabbits who scatter when he lands on a tree limb.
Wild flowers are beginning to bloom. Lupine, cranes-bill and oxeye daisies are making an appearance. In a few weeks shasta daisies and coreopsis will bloom. The air is sweet with the blossoms from the wild grapes. The ferns are prolific as are the jack-in-the-pulpits. The wild blueberries are past their bloom and small green berries have formed. The elderberry bush is in bud not yet opening its cluster of small white flowers. The abundance of growth where once only poison ivy thrived fills one with wonder.
The path I have mowed through the tall grass leads me around the space. I go down to the sitting spot of a fallen tree trunk next to a fire pit. There is no peace and quite here. The sounds of life shout around me. Chirping birds, frogs calling out love songs, and the ever present tap tap tap from the woodpeckers fill the air with a cacophony of sound. The drone of human life a backdrop to the more intense noise of the woodland creatures who abound in this changed environment. My walk took me to the bottom of the small hill. I trudge up the hill, stopping to attack a tree trying to make my field back into a forest. I look up to see our home sitting atop the hill and I realize how blessed we are to have this open space.•
Nancy Bryant, lives in Monson and is the president of Giclee of New England, Inc.
