One day recently, with light, misty rain falling and the wind laid, I went for a drive, stopped where an old trail cuts through a patch of timber, large enough to give me better than an hour’s meander. By meander I mean exactly that, taking my time to wander and look carefully at all the places offered, including a slough where a farmer of years ago dumped what he no longer wanted. A fascinating part: He had fastened worn-out tires together with cable to control erosion.
A creek winds through the mostly second-growth timber — few trees more than 10 to 12 inches in diameter.
Undergrowth this time of year is minimal, so it was easy walking, although I did fall once when a rotten limb escaped my notice and my foot slipped. I have a walking stick, but it isn’t much help when a foot flies off at an angle and a misaligned body answers gravity.
As I approached the creek’s bank, I noticed concentric ripples. Three wood ducks, a beautifully colored drake and two hens, were amusing themselves just below a gurgling riffle, sometimes playing with each other as wild things are wont to do when thinking they’re all alone.
I used to hunt ducks with a passion, but I never could bring myself to bear down on a wood duck. They are among the most beautiful of waterfowl, and seem so vulnerable, their preference for spending time in small streams that gives hunters who so desire relatively easy means of sneaking near.
The creek has cut through several shelves of shale, and as they degrade during high water small pieces have accumulated to form rock bars. The shale excess also lines the creek bottom.
I can’t resist investigating such places. Over the years I’ve found several artifacts, including a remarkable six-inch-long gray flint knife that is among the most prized of my collection.
The only discovery this time was a piece of petrified wood nearly as large as my fist, which, because of size, piqued my interest, and found a place among my “favorite things” at home.
Back on firm ground I noticed a couple of saplings stripped of bark, a warning to other bucks, and numerous places where coyotes had scratched and dug into ground cover, when a scent gave promise of a morsel.
Another place I noticed a cow’s skeleton, its bones having been disarticulated by perhaps the same coyotes, and gnawed by small rodents, who covet the calcium. The bones were bleached by long exposure to the sun and were easy to spot from a distance.
Eventually I worked my way back to my old Ranger, deposited a couple of pieces of brass — I recycle scrap — in the bed and drove off, satisfied with another of my journeys of discovery.
The only way the experience would have been better is if I’d had the foresight to bring along my four-legged companion Angus.
