With Sassafras saplings below and Sugar Maple trees above,
Trail 3, in the upper area, beckons the ambler into the woods.
Autumn Woods/Collected Thoughts
November 4, 2013
Ouabache Trails Park
In the floodplain forest, an old Silver Maple stands
surrounded by water and Lizard's Tail plants.
“There is a harmony
In autumn, and a lustre in its sky,
Which through the summer is not heard or seen,
As if it could not be, as if it had not been!”
Percy Bysshe Shelley
The Wabash River in early November, on the Indiana side,
looking toward Vincennes.
“Autumn is the eternal corrective. It is ripeness and color
and a time of maturity, but it is also breadth, and depth, and distance. What man can stand with autumn on a hilltop
and fail to see the span of his world and the meaning of the rolling hills that
reach to the far horizon?”
Hal Borland
“The pods of autumn are as richly expressive as summer's
flowers. The quiet perfection of a long
flat honey-locust pod, wine-colored and polished as the leather of an
alligator-skin purse, is pleasant to contemplate; or the pungent roughness of a
green walnut, for what else is a walnut except a pod containing one fruit,
whose passion is to free itself from the pod and become another tree, producing
a million more pods?”
Rachel Peden “October” from Rural Free: A Farmwife's Almanac
of Country Living
The woods along Trail 2 in the upper area, with the “big
creek” in the distance.
“The smells rise, too, in late fall. There is a sharp tang mixed with an aroma
reminiscent of fresh walnuts and hazelnuts.
The smell is faint and subtle, but it powerfully affects my mood. It is like a channel to my childhood
memories, and I strain to inhale deeply whenever I sense that earthy aroma of
fallen leaves. The memories it evokes
are often not specific, but sometimes the bittersweet flashbacks are so sharp
they almost hurt.”
Bernd Heinrich “Scents
and Sounds” in A Year in the Maine Woods
Cut-Leaved Grape Ferns come to life in the fall and display their
fertile fronds, golden with spore capsules.
A spur trail from the upper loop road to Trail 2. The area light-colored area on the left was once a clearing after a
huge tree fell in a storm. It has since
been populated by saplings of Sassafras, Tulip Poplar and others.
"How silently they tumble down
And come to rest upon the ground
to lay a carpet, rich and rare,
Beneath the trees without a care,
Content to sleep, their work well done,
Colors gleaming in the sun.
At other times they wildly fly
Until they nearly reach the sky.
Twisting, turning through the air
Til all the trees stand stark and bare.
Exhausted, drop to earth below,
To wait, like children, for the snow.”
Elsie N. Brady
“Leaves”
Poison Ivy is a very colorful plant in the fall. Here, one of three leaflets, fallen from a
vine on a tree, rests on the floor of
the floodplain forest.
New leaves of Puttyroot Orchid stand proudly among the fallen
leaves of trees. They will remain green
all winter, and will not fade until early summer, to be replaced by a stalk of
tiny orchids.
“Leaves falling. I
love the way they fall in different sorts of attitudes, depending upon the kind
of leaf, the amount of wind (or no wind), the amount of canopy for them to fall
through, etc. In the summer, a very few
distressed leaves fall prematurely.
Those and the earliest autumn leaves have a lot to work through on the
the way down. Sometimes they just get
stuck somewhere for awhile. But I really
like the ones that are wide, and curve a bit, and totter back and forth as they
work their way through the leafy branches, like someone working their way through
a crowd, someone who is determined to get somewhere quickly, and with much
purpose – 'Excuse me, pardon me, excuse me, I'm sorry, pardon me, coming
through!'
Then there are the ones that catch the “thermals” and float
lazily down, unobstructed, tipping around like a cradle, a little swirl here
and there, taking their time, enjoying the sunshine and the scenery, enjoying
the sensation of floating, like a hang-glider floating around, reluctant to
land. And they always land very softly
and gently, just barely on top of things, with a sigh.
Then there are the ones that are no-nonsense – usually
thicker leaves, long-oval, like elm leaves, edges smooth or toothed (no lobes
to slow them down) – at the moment of break from the twig, they barrel
head-first through the canopy, pushing all aside, no excuses,
I've-got-a-job-to-do, oblivious to all.
They plummet to the woods floor with a smack and a 'there, now – I'm
HERE!'. Very solid landing.
Then there are the long, narrow ones that twirl down
lengthwise, constantly pirouetting. They
remind me of those spiral 'icicle” Christmas ornaments when they are bumped or
blown and then twirl, except if they were also falling and golden or
brown. They really are like dancers,
gazing upward, feet and toes downward, just twirling down rapidly. They always land on their feet, then tip
over.”
Terri Talarek King
from her nature journal October
4, 2011 (home woods)
A leaf of the Sycamore, the largest leaves produced by our
native trees.
“Daily life seems alarmingly virtual. Trees provide the antidote. The smell of pine needles, the crunch of
autumn leaves, the roughness of bark are all reminders that we are a part of
nature. Tree hugging in its most literal
sense, offers a reconnection with the physical world, the world of our
forefathers. The forests and their trees
are a sanctuary for the spirit. To enter
them is to seek renewal.”
Eric Rutkow, Epilogue in American Canopy: Trees, Forests and
the Making of a Nation
The floodplain forest, still mostly green Silver Maples and
Cottonwoods. Beyond them is the Wabash
River.
Burgundy shelf mushrooms on a venerable old Silver
Maple in the floodplain forest.
Old Grape vines weave through the autumn forest on Trail 2.
Enjoy a walk in the forest, and your own thoughts ...
