28Jan2009

28Jan2009: On the morning of the January ice storm, as the trees creaked, groaned and growled under their burdens of ice, I struck out into the teeth of the storm, much to the consternation of my sons, who envisioned their poor deranged mother crushed beneath ice-covered, woodland behemoths. Yet I cannot think of a better way to fully experience the power of weather than to be out in it.

To see the silent sawyer at work on Spruce Hill is worth having to trudge 4 miles in a dangerous ice storm. The ice works to seal every single twig, branch and blade of grass in its wintry envelope. The wind rises and rolls across the flatlands east of the pond and when it collides with the tree line at the eastern field edge, entire trees crackle in unison under the added stress. Some shed their icy bindings, some shed themselves of what weight they must, and some--no longer able to hold on--crash to the Earth in a shattering, splintering, exploding collapse of wood and ice.

In the hour it took to walk from the county road to the ridge top fields, the precipitation had changed states 3 times. The freezing rain had stopped, snow squalls came and went, and just before the snowfall started again in earnest, a cloud of dense fog rolled across the ridge top and encased my world in a cloud so thick and white, I lost sight of the line of trees in the fencerow at the isthmus, only a couple hundred yards away…another example of how magical the Spruce Hill microclimate can be.

1Jan2009

Gun hunting season during much of December has put a damper on my enthusiasm to be out in the wilds of Spruce Hill. I had wanted to do a public, winter solstice day hike that would encompass the entire hilltop trail, the two neighboring hilltop fields to the south, my orchard, across Baum Hill Road and encircle my 165 acre parcel--amounting to a 4-5 hour public hike, but that did not materialize. Even with the landowners' permission, the concern over it being gun-hunting season was enough to set aside that idea.

But what a joyous way to start the new year! So when the first of the year wheeled around, I thought it a great opportunity to finally check out the route. We started before sunrise on January 1st, at 18 degrees F, circled our property, and crossed Baum Hill Road by 830am, where we got our first glimpse of the sun's warming rays and the resident pileated woodpecker. Traversing the orchard and the two hilltop farm fields that abut Spruce Hill on the south end, we crossed onto preserve property at the southeast corner by 930. Within the next hour, we had ringed the Spruce hilltop and were back at the southwest corner of the isthmus and home by 11. This hike basically takes you from one end of the Spruce Hill Ridge complex to the other, crossing four individual parcels that total almost 1,000 acres and stretching south from Paint Creek at Bourneville towards Camelin Hill at the other end.

I couldn't help but notice that our 4W invaders have definitely been inconvenienced by the huge stack of trees and branches that our friendly and sympathetic neighbors have piled at the northeast corner of their farm fields--where a major 4W crossing brings the riders from the preserve property at the isthmus onto the farmers' field. This popular thoroughfare is now completely blocked to motorized traffic. We will have to wait and see how the 4W enthusiasts handle this new obstacle course.

As I hiked across the orchard near the pond dam, I witnessed what I thought initially was a tropical paradise magically transported atop Baum Hill. Spots of bright red and bright blue, punctuated with bright white and dark gray flashes immediately caught my eye. What could it be? I threw up my binoculars and there it was---eight to ten male northern cardinals, a dozen eastern bluebirds, pairs and pairs of juncos on the southeastern face of the earthen dam---all enjoying the first rays of the rising sun, clustered in an area perhaps ten by thirty feet, warming themselves and enjoying a morning sip, where there was plenty of vegetative cover that broke the icy surface and created tiny unfrozen pools. It was one of those moments that can only be witnessed by being out in the wilds at just the right time---what a perfectly lovely, visual treat on that gray and frozen landscape.

29Nov2008

Freezing temperatures and the prospect of foreign landscapes pry me out of my warm farmhouse and nudge me into the Spruce Hill climate once more. I spend the next 5 hours, observing and recording impressions.

It's hunting season; Minnie, Ralph and hunter orange are my shields.
Diagonal patterns at the isthmus---trees all fall in line with the raging winds that sluice up the ravine from Paint Creek Valley.
Frosted patches, brown leaf blankets, pileateds, sea of dried seedheads.
Copse of shrubby trees, deer-colored haunts; four white tails bound across the field, bellies tickled by dried goldenrods.
Plastic ribbons--artificial green; orchid leaves--real green, ferns, too--all on brown palettes with horizons broken by hefty sandstones.
Down the footpath, out to Orchid Point, woods with that unique exposure, oh the orchid leaves, many, many.
To the parking lot--glint of red, silver, metal. What? Hunters? No--gatherers, gathering for a National Park Service tour. I pass by barely noticed, audience enthralled by Hopewellian culture tales.

23Sep2008

A six hour tour, a Tuesday, and it is once again, unseasonably warm for this time of year. My trail on this day started at the SE corner of the isthmus, then led diagonally across the open field to the pond, along the NPS path to the neck, down to the parking lot, back up the pathway, and along the eastern edge of the hilltop field and exited by the way I came. The forest floor is littered with leaves and branches(many the trimmings from the cicada hatch this year) from the winds of the remnants of Hurricane Ike that roared through Paint Valley over the last few days.
I wade through the field of spent glory, angling towards the pond, my path graced by New England asters, monarchs, goldenrod, Queen Anne's lace, mountain mint, false boneset, goldenrod and thistle up to my shoulder, scarlet poison ivy leaves, bursting milkweed pods and white asters. A tree at the pond has been laid over by the winds, and there is a bright yellow, softly convoluted fungus clinging to the newly exposed split wood. Recently, waves of warblers have been moving through the area, and I saw my share of them along the footpath by the old farm pond near the parking lot. I did not have my bird guide with me but am now positive in my identification of a hooded warbler, and somewhat less positive about a prairie warbler. Others gathered with them are tufted titmice and catbirds, and later along the footpath, a pair of eastern wood pewees traded calls.

24Aug2008

Spruce Hill on Sunday, midday, in the middle of August is definitely the place to be to gain an appreciation for its true beauty and strength. Having spent the last week driving several thousand miles, it was such a relief to be able to get out and just walk with little direction or time constraints.
The 500 acre parcel south of Spruce Hill has changed ownership this year. The new owners have drilled in a crop of soybeans in both hilltop fields. I was amazed to see how much butterfly weed was blooming in the midst of the soybeans, and the plants were replete with monarchs, zebras and swallowtails. Cup plant and mist of the meadow remain in bloom as I step from the cool glade of the isthmus to the southern edge of the open field.
Out of habit and the human tendency to turn right, at this juncture, I normally follow the eastern edge of the field path. This time I veered to the northwest and crossed the open field to the western edge. This strip is shaded from the morning sun by the mature trees along the isthmus. As a result, the plants in that shade grow taller than normal. The boneset towers over my head, the tallest I've ever seen. Goldenrod, jewelweed, ironweed, smartweed, ragweed, Queen Anne's lace, horseweed(all those magnificent weeds!!!), fleabane, thistle, susans, agrimony, wingstem, virgin's bower and a profusion of trumpet vine pods decorate the field edges despite the mowing of late last summer. There is a particularly aromatic goldenrod that blooms where the field starts to narrow on the west side, much favored by the butterflies and bees.
Though it remains brutally hot and humid as I walk the field path, there is always a gentle breeze at the crest of the footpath where it meets the field edge at the northern tip-- a perfect place for refreshing green tea and a snack of homemade raisins.

Wildlife sightings: Turkey vulture, white tail deer, goldfinch

2Aug2008

The second day of August was a pleasant but rather warm day. At Spruce Hill, 44 hikers, including donors, former area residents and locals gathered at the foot of the hill along with a National Park Service Ranger for a public hike. This was sort of a celebratory hike in that Spruce Hill is now 'officially' in the joint custody of the Arc of Appalachia Preserve System and the Ross County Park District. Wooohoooo!!!
We walked the footpath to the hilltop, then along the eastern edge of the field halfway to the isthmus, then cut east across the field to the pond where Ranger Bruce gave a detailed presentation about the short, but very convoluted, history of this unique acquisition. All in all, a very pleasant way to spend 5 hours of our day!

25Jun2008

Approaching Spruce Hill from the south on a hot summer day, I enter the dark, damp, green coolness of the line of tall trees at the eastern corner of the isthmus. It is a fleeting but welcome break from the heat of this summer day. That tenacious garlic mustard still lurks at the woods edge along the path. I try to ignore the tall, erect stems, now bulging with seeds, and am almost successful as they blend in quite well with all the other abundant greenery.

I hear the 'witchety, witchety, witch' of the common yellowthroat. Two, healthy butterfly weeds bloom at the first gateway. Male indigo buntings sound their fire alarms from the tops of small shrubs. Butterflies, dragonflies and goldfinch share their space while the white yarrow, trumpet creeper, and yellow and red clover add their silent, but no less vibrant, coloration to the living palette being painted before my eyes as I move through. A turkey vulture glides lazily overhead and lends its unique monotone. I reach the neck of the field and hear the yellow breasted chat calling high in the treetops. I stop and try to locate it. It takes me a while but eventually I see it perched just below a high, over-arching tree branch. It repeatedly calls a 'hoo, hoo, hoo, chip, chat' and proudly exhibits its vivid yellow breast and dark facial mask.

I investigate a trail that has been carved from the northern field perimeter, around the pond, and back towards the east. It meanders south across the field, passing hundreds of intoxicatingly fragrant blossoms of common milkweed, capturing the constant breeze along the low ridgetop, encircling the southwestern edge of the pond, and finally exiting on the east side. I think the way it was designed will discourage motorized traffic and encourage that of those with less ecological impact.

At the west side of the pond, I find a turkey sandbath; feathers, disturbed soil, and a slightly musty poultry smell are a dead giveaway. Standing quietly by the pond, I notice movement in the underbrush---a red fox squirrel is busy with its furtive investigations. Then oddly enough, stretched out atop the remnants of what Arlington Mallery in Lost America once described as 'the winged serpent mound on Spruce Hill', is an eastern garter snake. It strikes a supine, but intensely alert, pose as I snap its photograph. Contemplating that this snake's ancestry could likely be traced back for hundreds of years at this location, I feel the intruder in comparison and respectfully back away, leaving it to continue weaving that living thread.