Blufftop Wind In The Boughs

It sounds like the ebbs and flows of traffic on a busy street or distant highway; but it’s not.  There’s nobody else here—upon this bluff overlooking the Sugar River.  The skies are partly cloudy, but constantly changing due to the light winds; those same winds blowing like a horde of cars through the leafless treetops of the oaks and hickory and the needled boughs of the tightly clustered white pines behind me.  There’s momentary silence but also low moans from the wind, and rattles from last year’s leaves still hanging on—soon to be kicked out of the nest once this season’s buds begin to burst forth.

I’m not deep in a secret wood, or on forgotten property, I’m right here.  I’m in plain view and out in the open.  It’s just that I have it all to myself at this moment in time.  I can hear the spring peepers and chorus frogs singing in the vernal ponds across the way—in the marshes on the other side of the river.  Wild places.  Mysterious places.  I’ve kayaked over to that side before and walked amongst the dead grasses of spring.  It’s intimate there even in its openness—before things leaf out—because you’ll find that your spirit latches onto the simplicity and complexity of it all when your senses are alert and on fire.  I can see the door stoop to that area from this bluff.  It’s comforting to know it’s there with its seasonal pockets of stagnant water, helping to warm the water and earth and kick-start into action the life that’s always there; so that we with our limitations can actually see it!

While here on the bluff I’m soaking all of this into my body; absorbing it into my memory for safe keeping.  There are a myriad of trails nearby that I could hike, and I may do so as I’ve often done.  Typically I’d have been running them as well, as I love the softness of the paths and alert nimbleness it takes to navigate the twists, turns, roots, and ruts.  But, I had surgery on my right knee not too long ago for a torn meniscus, so I’m trying to be patient; trying to slowly build a foundation of strength that will get me back to that activity that I love.

In the meantime I’m sitting here in a camp chair on this bluff.  I’m sitting here where history planted itself nearly 90 years ago when the W.P.A. built this limestone shelterhouse.  A good friend of mine once shared a story about a time when his grandpa attached half of an oxen’s iron work shoe—from the beast of burden's cloven hoof—to this very pavilion; shared history.

I love that there’s a huge fireplace both inside and outside—where the two flues are shared by the same chimney.  And while the structure is sound, it will require some tender love and care in the near future.  I can only hope that a few timbers are replaced and some tuck-pointing applied so that when I’m older, and can no longer hope to run or walk the trails, I can still sit here on this bluff and listen to both the flicker and red-headed woodpecker, and the wind in the boughs.

The Outside Fireplace Of The
Limestone Shelter Built In 1939.

Today within the beauty of an early spring day, I chose to build a small fire in the outdoor hearth of the fireplace.  Soon I’ll make a potato, egg, and sausage scramble in my old iron skillet—upon the still hot coals.  It’ll be a hearty lunch to carry me through the rest of the day; like the resonating warmth radiating off the stone work.  Afterwards I’ll take my walk on the trails along the bluff, and water’s edge, and back into the river bottom at the base of a ridge.  Like the nearby squirrel gnawing on the husk of an old walnut found in its hidden pantry, the croaking calls of the sandhill cranes in the distant marsh, and the winds off the bluff through the white pine boughs, walking will give me the opportunity to reflect on life and the important things.

See you along The Way…

Spring Beauty Flowers

A Vernal Pond

Winds Of Comfort

It’s fresh air blowing in out of the WNW at 15-25 miles per hour; gusts are up into the 40’s.  While the temperatures hover in the upper 50’s, it’s what amounts to a perfect fall day.  It’s a day void of sunshine, but the winds fill in for comfort.  With the late autumn foliage and it’s array of colors, it’s a great day for taking pictures without all of the otherwise distracting shadows.

This afternoon my wife Cindy and I came out to a favorite bluff-top ridge, overlooking a favorite river, in a favorite forest preserve here in the Stateline Area.  We walked and talked and let our dog Kora run happy and carefree.  Later we built a fire in the old limestone picnic shelter.  It was a small fire made from the spark of my flint and steel, and embedded in the fibrous bark of a red cedar tree.  From there I used small twigs I found on the ground from the surrounding hickories and burr oaks.  I cut the dried cottonwood poles that I had brought along into ten inch sections to add to the sweet scent of the smoke.  In my old aluminum pot I heated water for hot chocolate, and together with some pieces of coffee cake that Cindy had made yesterday, we settled in as we watched the cloud-veiled sun set in the southwest skies.  Its dim rays showed through the treetops of the woods on the other side of the river.

While several barred owls serenaded us with their soft booming calls of, “Who cooks for you? Who cooks for you all?”, we peeled away the scales of stress and life.  For this one moment of time, we took this precious shard from the jars of clay of which we are and allowed the winds to purge our souls.

I journaled while Cindy read; sometimes aloud when she came upon something poignant and symbolic to where we are in our journey through life.  It gave us something to think upon as Kora ate her food and watched things beyond our senses in the woods surrounding us.  Kora is ever alert, and I’ve learned through our outdoor ramblings to watch her, because she will notice wildlife and changes through the various sounds and smells long before I ever do.  The flicker, a species of woodpecker, being the latest to catch her attention.

Now, as the embers  glow, and the cool draft draws smoke up the old chimney, the darkness of the evening begins to creep in from the surrounding trees.  It is not the fingers of shadows so common at sundown, but instead a pervasive feeling that permeates my inner being.  I don’t find it foreboding, however, but instead embrace it and find strength within the darkness at the day’s end.  We are smack dab in the throes of the changing seasons; on the heels of fall and at the doorstep of winter.  The winds rattling the oak leaves overhead inform me of this, and I am listening.

See you along The Way…

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The Videos

The Wind From The Ridge

Thundering Paws Up The Trail

(To watch the videos you may need to change the "view version"

at the bottom of the page)

THE PICTURES

The Ridge

Sky Blue Aster

Burr Oak

Juniper Berries (Red Cedar)

Lichen

Cindy & Kora

Blackberry Sprigs

White Pine Needles