Shelter me oh mighty Pine forest. Cover me with your limbs and protect me from the cold winter winds. Why is it that every time I enter a stand of pine trees I feel as if I am home? It reminds me of a story I once read about John Muir. Whenever he left his cabin in Yosemite he would say, “I’m going in”. Like Muir, “in” is where I would rather be. I planned to hike today not realizing that it was Super Bowl Sunday. I didn’t realize it because I haven’t had cable or satellite tv for over five years. I grew up in an athletic family. I played sports and learned many valuable lessons from them. But, as the years passed I felt the tug of another life; one of my ancestors. It felt as though I was passing through a door into another space and time. Call it what you will. Some might say it was an awakening. I don’t know. I just know I feel more connected to the trees and the birds in the sky than anything else in this world.
The photo above was taken at Oak Openings Preserve near Swanton, OH along the Ridge Trail (silver trail). It was a balmy 34 degrees F which made the snow wet and sticky. I hiked with three others and zoned out for most of the 6 miles that we hiked. I noticed the ease of my breath and the sound of my footsteps through the wet snow. As we passed from one Oak savannah to the next I imagined the Native Americans setting fire to the land as they once did. Evidence of recent prescribed burns was everywhere. The birds were quiet except for the occasional drumming of a woodpecker or the friendly chatter from a Chickadee.
When our group arrived back at the parking lot a fat tire posse was about to depart. Their bright jerseys looked out of place in a landscape of stark contrasts of black wet tree bark against pure white snow. I suppose the natural world is not so different with Tom turkeys puffing their chests and fanning their tails to impress the ladies. As for me, I plopped myself into my silver Jeep Renegade with hood stripe and sports rack on the roof and headed out; with my fanned out tail feathers blowing in the wind.
The Heron 