Of Woods, Water, and Quiet Spaces

A sign that you are getting old is when you glance up at the calendar and realize another month has flown by like a jumbo jet furiously winging toward a glamourous destination… and here I am, wondering why I am not on the beach gazing steadfastly over gentle waves and sun warmed sand.

Last weekend found me in the mountains of New York. At first I was not sure as if I would be able to make it as Hurricane Irene had dumped a significant amount of water in the river valleys and caused tremendous flooding to upstate New York and even more damage in Vermont. Unusual that a hurricane would hit this part of the country, especially so far inland, but it certainly did. Roads, bridges, crops and portions of towns were summarily dispatched by the raging water. Shortly after the water began to go down in Amsterdam, a village just outside of the city was hit by a tornado! Nature was not done yet as more flooding came — although not as severe – the already waterlogged ground could not handle any more. As I was driving back, I was getting updates that certain portions of the Thruway were closed and I would be unable to make it into town, but would have to significantly detour. Fortunately, by the time I arrived in the area, they had opened the exit to Amsterdam and I was able to cross through. Sadly, some of the older landmarks have had some serious damage and the process of restoration will not be an easy road if they are to survive.

Visiting my sister’s new home in the mountains was a definite highlight of the trip. Down a long bumpy road, across a winding stream with a view of a mountain pierced by tall firs, and then through a rustic arch. It’s a sprawling cabin, complete with rusty steel roofs and rugged rough-sawn board siding and a warp around porch with a balcony in the peak accessible by a steep ladder. Sitting on a worn church pew, you overlook a beautiful pond, filled with fish and the excited sounds of adventuring kids, rowing the boats across the still green water. The backyard is a broad avenue framed by hardwoods and tall firs which punctuate the blue sky. Framed perfectly in the middle is the gentle slope of a mountain, like a slumbering big bellied giant, laying on his back in the middle of the fern filled forest. The woods are lush and green – ferns as far as you can see, and the ground is quiet and soft, with hills of moss dotted with colorful mushrooms. The streams winds its way through the acres of wilderness like an undulating snake, twisting this way and that way, while wide plank bridges connect the trails.

You can get lost here… lost in the silence and beauty of the peacefulness of being in nature. In the morning, when the sun has finally begun to show it’s bright, cheerful face, before the kids are stirring in their beds and before the dog has raised her sleepy head, the mist begins to burn off the stream, and the top of the mountain is still hidden. The birds are calling their morning greetings and the ground is thick with dew. It’s so quiet – nothing of man can be heard except the steps of the one man who walks down the trail, camera in hand, enjoying that moment – breathing that sweet pure air and realizing that life is such a blessing, especially in such a place of beauty.