Quiet

Sometimes in this fast paced, production oriented world we live in, a modern gal needs to treat herself to some good old fashioned spontanaeity. This afternoon when I got rained out of work, I utilized my modern vehicle to transport myself to some old school good clean fun- a trip to the woods. I figured it being a Wednesday and on top of that it being kindly rainy-ish, the usual leaf-peeping Max Patch crowd would likely be sipping caffeine in Starbucks of various locations and I might even have the mountain to myself. I decided that instead of embarking upon one or more of the many productive tasks I could accomplish in an afternoon off, I would enjoy some woodland herb hunting. (No, I was not hunting ginseng, and no, I will not tell you what I was hunting, but yes, I believe I found it, and yes, it was legal.) Sure enough, the people affiliated with the only car up there were leaving as I arrived. (Incidentally, one of the people in that group was wearing a strapless wedding dress...) I got to spend the next several hours up on the mountain doing my thing, enjoying the utter absence of other humans. On the way up the bald, the clouds were so low and the wind was so cool and fresh, I almost wanted to weep. It was just right. The clouds blowing over me and freshly cut rolls of hay, I felt as if I were in Britain. The crickets sang their sad fall song, slow and mellow, and the mountain was telling me all about how lonesome it can be on a misty fall evening. In the damp woods, the creek trickled quietly, and even the nettles stung me gently as my bare calves brushed up against their formic acid bearing bristles. All manners of woodland herbs were in there doing their thing- some still flowering, like the jewelweed and the turtleheads, a few bee balm stragglers, a late black cohosh, and a plethora of goldenrods and butter and eggs on the edges. Most were to seed, like the angelica, the jack-in-the pulpit, the agrimony, the umbrella leaf, the smilax vine, and the blue cohosh. Lichens, fungi, ferns and lycopodium moss gave the woods a feeling of vibrant moisture, and signs of bear were everywhere.
When I could tell night was approaching, I headed back to the road, taking time to stop and enjoy the last of this year's wild blueberries and to gather a load of the abundant usnea lichen to stock up for this winter. On the long drive home, I thought hard about the mountains, and only passed 4 cars total (and that was in the last 15 minutes as I got close to Hot Springs.)
A gal's got to get out to her roots once in a while, even when it means foregoing an afternoon's opportunity to be productive.