I walked up the trail that starts a few hundred feet from my driveway this afternoon. I am told the trail is the work of someone who once had a cabin way out back, but it has also been used as a logging road. The land, almost 1000 acres, is in conservation and we are free to hike at will.
There is a junction at one point where the trail meets Hog Hill Road, now a defunct thoroughfare. It's because of that I was going to name my place Hog Hill Homestead, but there is a multitude of ferns growing at the edge of the field/forest behind my house so I decided to name the place Fernwood.
It's an absolutely beautiful walk and there is so much texture in autumn's outfit. And so quiet and peaceful. At times, only the sound of the babbling brook is heard; some times only the wind flowing through the baring trees. Highlights of the walk were the milkweed seed heads all burst open, sending their progeny to establish themselves further on, and the brook, of course. Glimpses of it meandering at the bottom of the bank, and at times out of view.
I walked as far as the water fall--about 3/4 of a mile--which is barely a trickle now. But after downpours and in the spring, it's a proper water fall, all gurgling and gorgeous. The solitude, and step away from modern life steers my mind to pondering the Native Americans who at one time roamed these lands. The sense that this is our home, this beautiful planet earth, is vivid in these moments.
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