I went to the Fairfield Osborn Preserve where I am a naturalist. I went to where the waterfall was, which was functioning for the first time in a while because of the recent rains. The whole area was alive with water. The creek was rushing past with a harsh noise, quite different than the quiet dribble of water that was there the week before. I stood in front of the waterfall, rather than sit, with sticks and leaves crunching under my muddy boots and my head and shoulders wet from the rain despite my best efforts to bundle up.
The area was crisp and wet, but beautiful. The moss and trees were a vibrant kelly green, creating a startling contrast to the brown and orange leaves on the bushes and ground. The sky was a dismal grey, but the rain that it brought created a clean smell of eucalyptus, oak, mints, and oddly enough, mud. It was the first time that I really
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Behind me, a bit in the distance, was a wire fence used to do some research on flora. It was warped from the weather, not really in use anymore. This would not have been there five years ago. There was also beer bottles and leftover burnt pieces of wood, most likely from a bonfire someone illegally made a few nights before. The entire shape of the land over where we were was new. Next to the waterfall is a long incline, what used to be a creek. However, sometime ago a landslide occurred and the creek stopped, leaving the waterfall to be the main source of the creek as well as underground sources.
Landslides have shaped the area, so it is hard to imagine what the place must have been like as recently as twenty years ago, let alone a hundred. However, there are remnants of a past. There are concrete blockades down the creek, some of the only reminders of a settlement that was there. Part of the creek was a swimming pool, where if it was full enough people would come and swim in that little area. Now, it is a popular spot to see
In the spring of 1847, Captain Charles Imus and his family settled on this spot. Here, the West Side’s typography created an ideal site for a homestead. Elsewhere, a seasonal floodplain extended one-half mile or more from the San Joaquín River’s banks. However, where Hospital Creek’s dry arroyo meets the river, the San Joaquín’s west bank stands on higher ground and does not flood.
Stately pines towered over the wandering Little Meadow Creek. The stream was almost dry; many rocks revealed along the bank and rivulet bed. Be that as it may, Conrad Reed, a brazen 12-year-old, chose a Sunday in 1799 that he'd preferably angle in this shallow spot then go to chapel. As the kid sat tight for a nibble, he saw a yellow shake projecting from the water. It was an abnormal shake, dissimilar to the typical quartz and slate he found in the field. He pulled the stone from the stream quaint little innit home.
There is a serene moment when reading John Muir “A Windstorm in the forests,” that rushed through me. Which can only be described as a rush of emotions that one might face when returning home after traveling for so long. I feel that this response is so far harder to write than I could have imagined it to be because the forest Muir is describing within his story, within the Sierra Nevada is one that I grew up with. The same ones that I spent my summers and winter breaks at, I feel a slight struggle when trying to describe my response because I didn’t realize how much I miss all of that and how many of my memories are surrounded by that forest. Reading Muir story brought back the images of seeing stretches of land covered in an endless amount
Personal Observations, I was a part of an expedition where we kayaked along Ral Ral Creek and was able to observe what the Murray is going through and what it’s like now.
The water was calm, like the morning; both were starting to get ready for the day ahead. The silent water signals that although rough times occurred previously, the new day was a new start for the world. As I went closer to the water, I heard the subtle lapping of the water against the small rocks on the shore. Every sign of nature signals a change in life; no matter how slight, a change is significant. We can learn a lot from nature: whatever happens in the natural world, change comes and starts a new occurrence. I gazed over the water to where the sky met the sea. The body of water seemed to be endless under the clear blue sky. The scope of nature shows endless possibilities. Nature impresses us with the brilliant colors of the sky, the leaves, the water. She keeps us all in our places and warns us when we are careless with her. After all the leaves have fallen from the trees, she will offer us the first snows of the year to coat the earth with a tranquil covering. That will only be after we have recognized the lessons of autumn, the gradual change from warm to cold, rain to snow, summer to winter.
She could see in the open square before her house the tops of trees that were all aquiver with the new spring life. The delicious breath of rain was in the air. In the street below a peddler was crying his wares. The notes of a distant song which some one was singing reached her faintly, and countless sparrows were twittering in the eaves. ( This description of the scenery is very happy, usually not how one sees the world after hearing devastating news of her husbands death.)
Another interesting historical site on the south end of the lake on Hwy 120 is Mono Mills. Men were all over the country cutting huge Jeffrey trees to be gathered at the saw mill for shipment by train to the mines at Bodie. It is still possible to walk sections of the railroad grade where the ties are left rotting on the ground and old cans and broken glass lay scattered about. Some spots had short trestles. This was another project where Chinese labor was employed to negotiate the steep grades required to get up the hill to Bodie.
I came home smelling of pine trees and campfires. I made so many memories and had so many new experiences in just a brief visit. It was unlike any camping experience I had been through before. In a way, it was life changing. I’m looking forward to exploring more of the Boundary Waters with others, and I hope to give them the same kind of experience I
The skies were clear and a very bright blue. We unpacked our gear from the car and started hiking on the trail. Walking on the rocky trail was hard and tiring but the views were great. There were areas that were very grassy and green and others that seemed very dry. Our trail wasn’t on the green side.
A couple of years ago during one of those, on a whim after spending a few days in Arches National Park, my wife and I detoured to the snowy, icy south rim of the Grand Canyon. We journeyed toward it from the east side but got turned back at the National Parks’ gate; the road was snowed under from there on up. After retracing our steps, we traveled down to Flagstaff and spent the night, driving in my four by four truck up to the South Rim the next day. It was an eerie experience to stand on the edge of the South Rim and see only cloud; fog shrouded the canyon’s great gap, leaving us with visual doubts that anything was really there. Defeated, we hit the Visitor’s Center and gathered information so we could go back sometime in the spring or fall with weather more to our liking.
A self proclaimed tree-hugger, I could go on and on about the healing that can come from a day in the great outdoors, breathing in the fresh air, surrounded by unspeakable beauty, and far removed from the chaos. After a long (arduous, but rewarding) hike on the Inca Trail I learned just how intense of a connection you can make with the world around you if you just stop and give yourself the time to take it all in. Undeniable is the powerful force that is nature.
As far as forests went, it was a fairly standard one. With densely packed trees and bushes teeming with wildlife, it was a sort of near-paradise.
The water beats at the bank feel gently, and resides carefully to avoid over soaking it. The air is fresh and overwhelming with cool gushes of wind blowing past, provoking the trees to yawn and some times sleep. It was a lovely Valentine day and perfect for a picnic at Lake Lavon.
Heading back to the hotel in the rain was one of my favorite parts of the trip. How awesome to let your guard down long enough for that child inside to take over. My husband and I tried so hard during our walk to keep dry and duck into stores when the rain got worse. My husband and I eventually gave up all hopes of staying dry. Instead we gave caution to the wind and splashed and played in the rain. It was like taking a walk while taking a shower. I know when we both got back to our room that there wasn't any part of our body that was dry. I will forever have this memory in my head for the rest of my life. I will have many wonderful and exciting memories of my trip to New York. I know if I never go back to this city, I will always remember my experiences.
The sunless sky covered the woods over the treetops which created a canopy over my head. The crimson and auburn foliage was a magnificent sight, as this was the season known as Fall. There was a gentle breeze, creating the single sound of rustling leaves. The leaves appeared as though they were dying to fall out of the tree and join their companions on the forest floor. Together with pine needles and other flora the leaves formed a thick springy carpet for me to walk upon.