ME: July 20 - 25 Trip Log: Part I - Hog Island Audubon Camp and the Outdoor Teaching Tradition

In the tradition of the Maine "Great Camps", Audubon's Hog Island continues to inspire and drive environmental and natural resources education for teachers from all over the world. I finally had my chance to join a summer session - one of my life-long dreams - certainly as a naturalist and natural history educator, but also as a conservation historian. This great camp experience did not disappoint and made me love all the more the impressive tradition of teaching that came from the nature study era of the late 1800s and early 1900s.

Pog, a treasured family moose, travels with me to Hog Island. Scott gives him a lift!

I have to state up front - I am a lover all things north in natural history, so you know I was as giddy as a little kid to step on to the Snowgoose, the big charter boat that ferries campers and guests to the camp and out to the bird islands of Muscongus Bay. My love for pelagic birding and riding aboard big boats is hard to hide and I always take the 'spotters stance' with binoculars in hand no matter how short or long the ride is. It was a short hop to the island but I saw black guillemot ('gillies'), common loon, double crested cormorant, and common eider right off! Yes - it feels like home before ever stepping off the Snowgoose!

Black Guillemot chick losing her down for adult jet black plumage

I tried to maintain a conservation historian's eye-view of the experience from the moment I walked up the dock ramp past the great shingled teaching lab and staff housing building The Queen Mary, to the gathering commons at The Bridge. How many great teachers and renowned birders have walked up the plank path to The Bridge? Rachel Carson, Roger Tory Peterson, Peter Dunn, Allen Cruickshank, and just a week ago, Scott Weidensaul (conservation author and founder of Project SNOWstorm). I thought about how many incredible naturalists and writers who've walked up that ramp are/were from Pennsylvania. I was right proud!

Hog Island, Maine.

Before I knew it, over 60 people had gathered on the island and were setting up their rooms with new roomies and instant friends. I will say something about the Great Camp tradition - you cannot help but make instant friends when abiding by dearly-held rules for family style meals and changing tables at every gathering (though I did try to position myself close to the windows at two particular tables whenever possible - I cannot stop birding...). My roomate Jen from Norfolk, Virginia, and I instantly hit it off and by the end of the week my face hurt from laughing so much!

Field sessions are an important part of learning the science of natural history.

 

Educators from all over the nation were split into four working cohorts to learn the natural history of the island and we were soon familiar with the grand old plank-built hall The Fish House where much information was shared, songs were sung, and deep thinking was thought about. I enjoyed sharing my PhD work in conservation history with many teachers, and two teachers in particular, Deb and Frankie, really were drawn to socio-ecological complex systems analysis and Buzz Hollings' infamous Figure Eight. A fellow PhD student Fanny and I talked up our field work incessantly and became each cheerleaders for the other as we work this year to finish our programs. She's doing some amazing work with finch song in Central Park, New York, bringing her love of music and music history to ornithology - a true transdisciplinarian.

Natural history illustration is a critical part of how we collect and understand ecological systems. Sherry York, instructor.

Although the Hog Island experience is now often associated with heading out on the Snowgoose to see seals and puffins, the tradition of the Audubon naturalists camp for teachers often goes undetected by those unfamiliar with the long history of nature and science education through the Audubon Society. In the late 1800s the Nature Study Movement arose in response to a growing interest conservation efforts and the realization that more people were city dwellers than from the country - a trend that has continued as America's demographic is certainly more urban/suburban than rural. Progressive educators and conservationists  Cornell's Anna Botsford Comstock and Liberty Hyde Bailey, and the American Museum of Natural History's Louis Agassiz and Wilbur Jackson launched a series of summer camps for teachers in 1895 with the hope that inspired teachers would bring nature study to their students. The idea  borrowed the Great Camp style of communal living and combined it with field sessions for natural history, science education, and conservation education - a recipe that continues to serve educator's camps very well all across the nation each summer. 

Naturalist and Keystone College (PA) professor Dr. Jerry Skinner

I've been teaching natural history for a long time, especially that of the northern woods, bogs, and coasts, and I was impressed with the suite of teachers we had for this session. Tradition is a big deal at Hog Island, and though most of the visiting teachers to Educator's Camp were unaware, I was totally tuned in to how our instructors utilized the hands-on and experiential approaches to outdoor education which were critical to the success of nature study movement under Comstock, Bailey, Agassiz, and Jackson.

Craig Newburger, excellent field educator and long-time Hog Island instructor teaches at Germantown School, PA.

The legacy of early nature educators who taught experiential methods to thousands classroom teachers who, in turn brought nature study back to their own students, influenced and inspired many of our most revered conservationists of mid-century including Rachel Carson, Olaus Murie, Aldo Leopold, and Roger Tory Peterson - among hundreds of other well-known names in the natural sciences. I wondered how many teens and educators who attend the summer sessions out here have gone on to be scientists in conservation work? 

A fellow natural resources educator popping out of Port Hole - our shingle sided great camp lodge for the week.

The 330 acre island off the shores of Bremen , Maine, was gifted to the Audubon Society in 1936 by Millicent Todd Bingham, who inherited the island from her mother, Mabel Loomis Todd, writer, editor, and biographer to Emily Dickinson. Since then the Audubon Society has maintained the island for its historic great camp charm and function with all emphasis on bird conservation and environmental education. The buildings are historic and the original camp of the Todds, including Mabel's writing cabin, still stand on the island. Artists and writers-in-residence can apply to stay in the Bingham camp. This year, one of my instructors, Sherry York from Colorado, will be spending a blissful month at the Bingham cottage to work on her printmaking.

Juanita and Ruth - carrying on the Great Camp tradition in important ways.

Critical to this effort has been the work of volunteers, especially with the backing of Friends of Hog Island (FOHI) and literally hundreds of people who donate their time and money to keeping the spirit of this Audubon camp alive and well. You can't help but feel like family as FOHI volunteers serve wonderful meals, attend to the workings on the lodges, and walk along with you on a late afternoon bird hike. I revived a little of the great camp spirit myself when I decided to make my Project Puffin (2015) book my 'autograph book.' I asked Ruth Woodall and Juanita Roushdy to be the first signers, though Ruth was so busy in the registrar's office I had to wait till supper to track her down! I had Juanita right at the check-out in the camp bookstore as I was buying the book, so she was naturally the first. (She got a little teary-eyed!)

My new hiking buddy Pachell - we can't wait to meet up in the NJ Pine Barrens for some day hikes.

Here's a nice video (featuring several of our instructors I was unable to capture in my own pics) that gives a great introduction to the experience at Hog Island:

I'll follow up with a few more posts about the actual conservation work and history of the Muscongus Bay region, but for now I wanted to get the education post in first. The instructors were excellent and the content an context of the camp truly was life changing for many of the teachers who came from everywhere. Great emphasis was placed on teacher diversity and I applaud the Audubon Society for sending so many teachers of color to this camp. We need to work harder to include the voices and experiences of ALL environmental educators and their students and I am impressed with Audubon's efforts to make the Hog Island Educators Week available to them.

A proper Eastern Egg Rock send-off from our cohort ashore Hog Island.

Before I close out this post I want to thank the Maryland Ornithological Society, and in particular my friend Dr. Dennis Kirkwood (MOS) for sponsoring my trip and my organization the Maryland Agricultural Education Foundation (MAEF) for allowing me the time to attend. Though I have many stops along the way as I continue my northern summer naturalist's expedition, this was a most excellent way to come home to New England!

More posts to follow for this week on bird conservation and the Atlantic coastal environment, but in the meantime check out the sites below.

Notes:

Friends of Hog Island - this should be your first stop! Support FOHI!

http://fohi.org/

Scott Weidensaul, author and founder of Project SNOWstorm - http://www.scottweidensaul.com

Instructor bios at Hog Island for this year can be seen here:

http://hogisland.audubon.org/instructors-and-guest-speakers

Hog Island Audubon Camp main site:

http://hogisland.audubon.org/

PA: Chestnut Grove Natural Area, Lancaster Co. - Walking with Liberty Hyde Bailey

A thick fog laid low in the Susquehanna River Valley as I crossed the Norman Wood Bridge into Lancaster County. I really had my doubts that I'd find the new prairie very photogenic in such poor light.  But as I drove north along the winding River Road towards the fog lifted high enough to cast the river hills in a glowing kind of light that makes colors pop.

Just the right number of informative signs without being intrusive. Thanks, LCSWMA!

Chestnut Grove is a stunning piece of community landscape restoration that adds invaluable habitat to the twenty mile long river hills natural area corridor of the Lower Susquehanna River Valley.The river hills undulate up and down like frozen ocean waves from stream valley troughs to high crested bluffs. The area is filled with beautiful trails, tons of history, and some of the most picturesque farmland in the country. These high plateaus of meadow and grasslands are considered some of the most endangered habitat in the Commonwealth and many conservancy groups and private landowners are working together to bring them back. This happened to be a great partnership project, a win-win for everyone and every open lands creature involved.

Undulating hills of color and life.

I've written about the importance of native grassland habitat before: protected serpentine barrens, restored meadowlands,  conserved and managed oak savannah, short grass and long grass prairie. Wherever  I am in my research travels I always make a point to find the grasslands that are unique to that place. These are transitional environments but by no means temporary. They expand and contract over time. Whether by the hand of man or by the climate of a region, grassland habitat has been around since the age of Big Reptiles. When conditions become wetter or when people and animals  move on, thousands of years of open lands can become forested pretty quickly. The reverse can happen too. When grasslands fail to hold soil, through natural or man made reasons, they can become deserts. Here on a high bluff over the Susquehanna, this area had once been forested then cleared for farming and cultivated, quarried for soil, and most recently, restored to something that may have been here thousands of years ago. People have had a hand in all of this for a very long time!

So many bees! Bumble bees especially!

In big time, measured by tens of thousands of years, eons, grasslands are those transitional blips that come and go according to drought cycles, the opening and closing of forests, and in the aftermath of ice ages. Mountains on the other hand, like rivers, come and stay a while before they change course or erode away. But all time being relative, grassland species adapt to their transitory environments and therefore can become rare when conditions change or species must change along with them. The key to understanding grasslands is that they are a process and not a product of systems much more complex than we can imagine. Grasslands are change.

Most grasslands and meadow habitat have animal controls that prevent the invasion of shrubs and trees. Out west enormous herds of bison that were estimated to have contained millions of animals kept the oaks from invading. Then came the sodbusters and bison hunters in the mid and late 1800s. The rest is history, as they say. Here in the East, after the cold marshy grasslands of post-glacial times gave way to warmer and drier environments, our main grassland animal control was the elk and the eastern wood bison. Vast herds of elk migrated south in the fall from their summering grounds in the Appalachian valleys a hundred miles or more to the north. Here they lounged, grazing  all the way to the Chesapeake. As they do today in north central PA, elk nibbled away at shrubs, twigs, and juicy saplings creating their own meadow environment. But by 1700 most of Pennsylvania's original elk herds were hunted to extinction.

As people became more numerous and more settled on the plateaus above the river (there are many Susquehannock 'town sites' in this area - look for the historic markers), they began to have a deliberate effect on the grasslands. Controlled burning helped subdue more invasive plants and favored the plants preferred by big game. The added bonus of abundant berry and heath balds, encouraged by fire, sweetened the diets of man and bear. And the chestnut groves, large hummocks of great mast producing trees, for which this place takes its name, provided tons of oily nuts for man, beast, and bird. This was the land of the passenger pigeon.  I wish I'd been around to see their massive flocks streaming down the river valley.

Eastern grasslands  were most likely an open park mix of meadow, grassland, and chestnut groves. This type of habitat is described in many early settler and explorer journals. But after colonial settlement and the wholesale destruction of forest and shortgrass/prairie meadow to be replaced with farming - a process that took far less longer than a glacial retreat or even a decadal drought. And so went the Susquehannock, the bear, the elk, the berry balds, and later, the chestnut. It all happened in a geological blink of an eye. Which makes the restoration of this astoundingly beautiful place not only a great story, but a tale of irony.

Just over the hill are two huge wind turbines that mark the site of an active landfill - a big landfill that is perched crazily atop the scenic cliff-skirted Turkey Hill. The big landfill can be seen from high above and when I fly back to Baltimore from points north I watch for it from thousands of feet up. It's not pretty sitting out there on one of the most recognizable mountainous features of the river valley, though from the river you'd never know there was a landfill up there. Most folks know the turbines, however, as marking the site of the landfill's neighbor, the Turkey Hill Dairy, maker of delicious ice cream and ice tea - though I'm not sure how they get ice tea from a cow...

The wind turbines actually mark the site of the LCSWMA Turkey Point Wind Project at the  Frey Farm Landfill and it's very impressive!  The beginnings of the project were way back in 2010-2011 when the landfill required extra dirt to cover the refuse pits. So the county bought the farm next door and began to dig out the top of the hill, with the idea that the various pits and scrape pits would one day serve as wetlands. The idea for the restoration was hatched among several industry and conservation partners. Five years later, in way less than a geological blink of an eye - more like a twitch - we have this! 

The meadows and grasslands are interlaced with foot paths that share the way with horses, deer, and children. I counted the different species that had passed through the muddy hollows the day before and counted seven kinds of mammal, four kinds of birds, and what think was a nice slither of snake. There is a gravel path loop that encircles two wetland ponds and a deliciously fragrant wooded wet meadow. Butterflies swarmed in the gravel sucking mineral water that had pooled there after the evening showers. For a long way I walked with butterflies floating around my head as if I was in a could of wings. It was magical.

A healthy prairie meadow includes predators as well as prey. I watched a five foot long blacksnake sniff out a bird's nest in the high grass. Blackbirds and mockingbirds plunged down at it and screamed as the snake crossed my path and entered what I suspect was a nesting area. Not long after this a kestrel fledgling rocketed over the trail. I found a pile of feathers in that place on my return.I wondered if the snake alarm attracted the kestrel that figured out he couldn't miss in a crowd of screaming birds. Kestrel boxes are posted throughout the natural area on tall poles. This is a species of concern in Pennsylvania and the Pennsylvania Game Commission, LCSWMA, Hawk Mountain Sanctuary, and PA Audubon are all working together to help provide nesting boxes across the region.

It seemed every box had a bird peeping out.

I counted twenty next boxes along my walk of about three miles. Bluebirds, wren, kestrels, tree swallows, chickadees, sparrows, and curious (though I don't think nesting) red-bellied woodpecker were using the boxes. Two deer-fence impoundments attracted a variety of perching birds in and on the wide mesh of fence. I caught a quick glimpse of a dicksissel that two birders had been searching for all morning. I almost didn't want to tell them as we met again on another loop, they looked so exasperated! I pointed to the corner of the large fenced-in area where I'd spotted the small black-bib and yellow chested bird.  I told them it was lucky that I even happened to have looked up at the fence when I did as I was so absorbed with the hundreds of bees on cone flower, black-eyed susan, bee balm, and thistles.

As I walked I got to thinking about Cornell professor and horticulturalist Liberty Hyde Bailey, an early twentieth century agriculturalist and writer who headed up the Country Life Commission under Theodore Roosevelt. I had a copy of Holy Earth in my backpack. I wanted to stop somewhere along the trail to rest and read a few pages.  I'm dealing with another round of lyme that makes me tire very quickly. Thank goodness I caught it early and am taking antibiotics but I knew that three miles would probably be exhausting (not my usual ten or fifteen) so why not bring along an old friend? 

Widow Skimmer, female.

The Country Life Commission was formed in response to a massive emptying out of the rural population of the Northeast in the decades after the Civil War leading up to World War One. There were many factors for this including displacement caused by new agricultural technologies that replaced workers and plummeting land and crop prices that forced many farmers into poverty. Many farmers, their families, and farm laborers fled to the cities in search of jobs, often competing with waves of immigrants fleeing Europe. As a result entire landscapes were abandoned particularly in New England and New York. This exodus concerned many people including Bailey and TR. Bailey was appointed chief of the Country Life Commission to investigate why. A huge rural survey was conducted, interviewing over 10,000 rural residents.

A beautiful man made pond is rewilding nicely - dragonflies and barn swallows abound!

The survey revealed that in addition to the stalled agricultural economy,  people no longer felt needed by or connected to a landscape that no longer supported them. They had to survive, feed their families, live in security, they said, but were not willing to wait out the slow motion disaster that affected them and their land. The survey was written into a Congressional Report and presented in Washington, D.C. by Bailey. Moved to act upon the rural crisis (compare this to today's congress) legislators released a large funding package directed at reforming rural economies, improving rural schools and agricultural training programs, and implementing conservation education that would help repair the damage done to the land by overworked, desperate farmers who wrecked their farms trying to squeeze any kind of living from them.  Bailey was inspired to write Holy Earth after his work with the Country Life Commission because he felt that missing from the reforms approved by Congress was the element of personal and communal responsibility, instilling a moral obligation to protect the gifts of the land that Creation endowed us with.

Widow Skimmer, male.

I found a nice place to rest near an overlook hundreds of feet over the water. The breeze was strong enough to keep biting flies away and I pulled out my old Therm-o-Rest seat and tucked in the book.

If moral strength comes from good and sufficient scenery, so does the preservation of it become a moral duty. It is much more than a civic obligation. But the resources of the earth must be available to man for his use and this necessarily means a modification of the original scenery. Some pieces and kinds of scenery are above all economic use and should be kept wholly in the natural state. Much of it may yield to modification if he takes good care to preserve its essential features.Unfortunately, the engineer seems not often to be rained in the vales of scenery and he is likely to despoil a landscape or at least to leave it raw and unfinished. 

Tiger Swallowtail on Monardia (Bee Balm)

We know it is not right that any family should be doomed to the occupancy of a very few dreary rooms and deathly closets in the depths of great cities, seeing that all children are born to the natural sky and to the wind and to the earth. We do not yet see the way to allow them to have what is naturally theirs, but we shall learn how. 

Cabbage White congregation on mineral damp.

To every bird, the air is good; and a man knows it is good if he is worth being a man. To every fish the water is good. To every beast its food is good, and its time of sleep is good. the creatures experience that life is good. Every man knows in his heart that there is goodness and wholeness in the rain, in the wind, the soil, the sea, in the glory of sunrise,  and in the sustenance we derive from the planet. When we grasp the significance of this situation, we shall forever supplant the religion of fear with the religion of consent.  

Red Admiral.

I think I dozed a little because when I looked up  Holy Earth was on the ground. Hmmm. Lyme naps. You must take them when they come! I wasn't concerned about ticks or other biting things, however, as I'd sprayed my clothing well the night before and kept pants and shirt sealed in a large vacuum-sealed bag to let the Deet permeate. It's a temporary fix I learned from a hiking friend. Too bad I didn't think to do this when I was up north in NH two weeks ago! Darned deer ticks! At least I caught this round, my fourth, early and went immediately on antibiotics. But the nap was sooo nice with the breeze coming up from the river. And the sound of insects - so lovely. "...there is goodness and wholeness in the rain, in the wind, the soil..."

Monarch on Coneflower. 

The grasslands shushed behind me. The prairie buzzed and hummed in front of me. Below me the wind rushed up through the steep forest. I could have stayed another hour, but the sky was darkening with an incoming storm. I continued on the path down to a remote pond, circled another deer-fenced impoundment and watched a family of orchard orioles travel along the edge of woods. Newly fledged orioles shivered and begged following their parents. "To every beast, food is good."

Song Sparrow in the deer fence.

Thinking about the many partners, public and private, corporate and individual, that are working together to make these kinds of projects possible gives me a lot of hope. Last week I wrote about partnerships in forest conservation, but this week is a little different. From a tired old farm field, to a borrow pit for the local landfill, to this beautiful eastern grassland prairie- all would have been a dream a generation ago. The most progressive and responsible corporate partners today, however, are not only eager to engage in the process but willing to invest the financial capital to create the ecological capital.

Serenade of the Song Sparrow.

I finished my three mile loop back at the newly installed gravel parking lot in time to hear a young kestrel kek-kek-king from the top of a willow tree in the wet meadow. I think Liberty Hyde Bailey had he been along with me today would have been very happy with what he had seen - and very appreciative of all the hard work, years of planning and labor that went into this newly wild place.  I pulled Holy Earth from my backpack and was ready to toss it on the front seat of the car when I quickly just popped it open and read wherever my eyes fell on the page - you know the trick,  instant spontaneous wisdom, like from a fortune cookie? 

There is no excellence without labor.

You cannot dream oneself into either usefulness or happiness. 

Notes:

The Lancaster County Solid Waste Management Authority (LCSWMA) is a remarkable and generous partner in the county's conservation scene. Check out their great blog and enjoy scrolling through all the good work they've contributed towards keeping Lancaster County natural history alive and well!
http://www.lcswma.org/blog/archives.cfm/date/2015/6

Bailey, Liberty Hyde. The Holy Earth. (New York, Charles Scribner's and Sons, 1916).
You can free the entire book online at Google Books!

NH: June 22 Trip Log: Lovern's Mill Natural Area, NH

The North Branch of the Contoocook River is loud, frothy, and crystal clear.

On a morning when I didn't need to rush in to my grad school class, I took a few hours and revisited a favorite place of mine I used to visit frequently when I lived nearby. Surrounded by forest reserves and easements is the Nature Conservancy's Loverns Mill Cedar Swamp Preserve Natural Area just ten miles from the Eppig place.

Atlantic White Cedar.

An old woods road follows the North Branch of the Contoocook River for a short while, past tumbling falls and drops. A very busy barrel and cable reel mill  (powered by an overshot waterwheel) once stood where the gradient is steepest, but now only the remains of a blown out stone dam stands off the east bank. The original 1798 Revolutionary-era  mill long gone from this site was the first industry built on this wild, whitewater river by Sam Dinsmore, a Revolutionary war veteran from County Antrim, Ireland. Nothing of any of the several mills that followed it are found here now.  All of it has reverted to wildlands. All of it protected by both the Nature Conservancy and for miles around by private land owners.

Bunchberry in flower.

The road soon intersects with the three mile loop Lovern's Mill Trail. This trail begged to be walked slowly to listen to birdsong, explore along the boardwalk, and to sit on the river bluff that overlooks the freshwater marshes. I'm glad I took the time because I did not get another opportunity for the rest of the week before or after class to take some time to myself. 

Cinnamon Fern. 

Northeasterners have a special relationship with their forests and private forest owners especially are critically important to conservation planning of the region. New England was once fully engaged in agriculture and when the great forests had been logged and the land cleared, hill farms spanned the landscape in a patchwork of walled-off pastures and fields.  Farm abandonment began after the Civil War and slowly the forests began to return. So did the forest industries. By the 1990s land owners recognized the economic as well as the natural value of their properties and they consulted with land trusts to balance stewardship of working landscapes. Most of the forest preserve lands of NH today are privately held.

A living wall of granite. 

All along the trail huge rounded boulders towered over me and the trail wove in and out of dark passages through them. In the half light, lichens and mosses covered their flanks in thick carpets of green, grey, and dusty blue, living walls of granite. A recent study of lichen biodiversity revealed that here on the rim of the cold bowl of high altitude swamplands, these living boulders hold thousands of years of growth. Pollen studies of the swamp core soils at the center of the bowl indicate that this environment has been intact for over 4,000 years and that the northern white cedar have been growing here at least as long. The oldest trees are known be about 150. It's a rare environment, however, and less that 500 acres of northern white cedar swamp remain in the whole state. This protected area is only about 50 acres in size, protected all around by private lands under easement, logging company reserves, and Nature Conservancy ownership. The complex arrangement of protection between state, private, and non-profit easements is impressive.

As I made my way down the boardwalk practically sunk in the high water that collected after a day of heavy rain, I watched clouds of damselflies in their mating flights. The males floated like ebony- blue fairies over the grass beds where the females laid their eggs on stems. A yellow warbler sang from a tamarack overhead and the northern white cedar trunks glowed in the low morning sun. Mosquitoes rose from the moss like mist. Dragonflies darted crazily around scooping them up as they flew slowly, still cold from the dawn hours.

The boardwalk in.

 I can imagine the superstition and fear of the early settlers who dared explore the dark, buggy world of the swamps. It is a strange relationship some people continue to have with the dark, wet, woods and find no solace in a world where insects claim dominion. In this world of bugs. I founnd it a bit like time travel looking back into the Devonian. I leaned against a young cedar tree and it tilted slightly with my weight pressing into it, anchored as it was to the boggy bottom and not the rocky rim. Butterflies, flies, midges, mayflies, beetles, bees, wasps, floating spiders on wisps of web, and a large lazy cranefly filled the air space around me.

The male damselflies were as curious about me as I was about them landing eyes front.

Northern white cedar grow thick on the interior of the swamp, evenly interspersed with tamarack and on hummocks, black spruce. Not very tall, these old trees practically sang for themselves bedecked with white-throated sparrows  darting from limb to limb declaring territory and chipping alarm calls at my presence. They were joined by red-eyed vireos, black-capped chickadees, flycatchers, wood thush, ovenbirds, towhees, a peewee, and a chorus of warblers so numerous I couldn't keep up with birding by ear. The music abruptly ended however as a feather grey missile burst through the swamp: a sharp-shinned hawk.  

On the rim of the swamp, looking in.

Thoreau wrote about the northern cedar swamps as providing indigenous canoe builders with all the wooden thwarts, gunwales, and paddles they could use for their bark-skinned boats that long ago plied the river highways and crossed thousands of lakes and ponds of this region. Confronted with heavy white water (like I can planinly hear  a quarter mile distant) these boats were light enough for one man to hoist upon to his shoulders and walk  well-worn portage trails around. The rivers and lakes are connected by networks of these trails that you can still find hundreds of years later. The Northern Forest Canoe Trail is one such water trail that has been restored by modern paddlers and in many places the old Indian, fur trader, and explorer portage trails are again in use.   

Indian Cucumber in blossom.

I find dark forests not the least bit frightening and I don't carry the unnecessary baggage of superstition, but I did put into context the good possibility of bumping into wildlife in this low light, hushed environment. The dramatic hilly  terrain of the rim, the shadowy depths of the sun-starved forest floor, and a fresh pile of bear scat in the trail gave me a little pause. It was still steaming. I think I caught a glimpse of the bear browsing far ahead along the edge of the swamp where dappled sun helped a large patch of berries to grow luxuriantly. But if it was just a shadow or the real thing, I never found out.  I stood a long time and watched, but was unable to hear anything over the roar of birdsong and scolding red squirrels. 

Maybe the bear was browsing this nice patch of partridge berries at the edge of the swamp.

The path got quite muddy in low spots and hoof prints of a moose filled with water as if she'd just passed this way in the early morning hours. My love of northern woods wildlife overcame any concerns and I continued along the trail a bit faster and a lot quieter hoping to spot the bear or catch up to the moose. It hard to blend in, though, with the constant chucking and alarm calls of a very upset red squirrel who, for some reason, followed me rather than going about her business. I noticed another large patch of partridge berry nearby and wondered if the bear and the squirrel weren't feeling a little protective of it! I certainly would! 

Sphagnum Moss in its element.

I came to an absolutely beautiful spot along the edge of the swamp and sat transfixed by the color, the sound, the juxtaposition of water, granite, moss, and trees.  The night before I had done a thorough reading of the Pope's encyclical Laudato Si, Praise Be.  I wondered, looking around at the blending of living and non-living material - cells of sphagnum and grains of glacially-ground sand, fern fronds higher than I could reach, and boulders draped in tapestries of lichen - if we've come to some sort of balance in the Northwoods - some kind of making-peace with landscapes that require our stewardship and care as opposed to landscapes of extreme exploitation a century and more ago.

Red Squirrel.

Conserving whole landscapes is a little like making peace with ourselves, dropping irrational fears and unrestrained greed, to allow wild nature to simply be within us too, I think. I recalled the recent release of a video in which an entangled dolphin swam trusting, maybe even in friendship, up to a group of marine biologists to ask for help. Understanding relationships and community is the foundation of ecology, and the divers - being ecologists and biologists - knew that their role was no longer as scientific observers but willing participants in responding to this simple act of asking for help. They became part of the story, connecting in the most intimate way with a most vulnerable creature who had sought them out. Ecology, from the Greek oikos meaning home, the study of home - the study of our place, our landscape, and our neighbors who share home with us.

A beautiful rest.

I moved from that beautiful rest and walked further along, considering what it meant to be at home, to be so comfortable in a particular place that it is seamlessly part of you. Laudato Si, the title of the Pope's letter was borrowed from St. Francis of Assisi's Canticle of the Sun, seemed a good sentence starter for a poem I wrote in my journal  to Little Sister Red Squirrel still following along.  I sat down next to a tiny creature shining like a fiery star in the dark universe of the forest floor and sketched Little Brother Red Eft.

Fiery star of the dark forest floor. 

The trail  reached into a wild and birdy marsh and I sat here too, a beautiful place for a writing break. The winds were just high enough to deter clouds of flies and mosquitoes, which come as part of the landscape. You must accept the messy, biting, buzzing annoyances and the downright danger that comes with the reality of wildness. I laugh sometimes, mostly at myself, but other writers too, when the romanticism of place runs roughshod over the realities of what it means to be physically in nature. 

A boreal refuge.

Things have claws, fangs, teeth, four legs or six legs or eight. I trip and fall and I get hurt. It's painfully cold or frighteningly hot. Storms rage or floods rise and wash life from the land.  That moose I was following and calmly calling "she" could well have been a large grumpy bull. That bear could have had a cub or two. So we need to not only learn to appreciate our place but understand our place in it.  We are powerful guardians and yet we are as vulnerable as an entangled or tiny wild thing at the mercy of it all. 

Fresh water marsh, West Mountain rising in the north.

This is the landscape where I go to learn more about what it means to be a steward. As Pope Francis says in Laudato Si we need more of these places, communally protected, shepherded, cared for, where the conservation of wild land "takes us to the heart of what it means to be human."

Rosebud Azalea.

Notes:

Though the Northern Forest Canoe Trail passes far to the north of Lovern's Mill Natural Area above the White Mountains in NH.  The modern trail now logs 72 miles through the state and uses the Connecticut River, Upper Ammonoosuc, and the Androscoggin as the main route (as it did 300 years ago!) - but it's important to remember that hundreds of linked water and portage trails spanned all of New England and northern cedar swamps were important sources of raw materials for the building of lightweight bark canoes. I have no doubt some of the Lovern's Mill Trail around the swift water of the North Branch served as an old route into and out of this swamp.

www.northernforestcanoetrail.org