Beaver Meadow
“Driving up the river road, I picked up a kayaker who was hitching a ride back up above Bartlett Falls. Most of the time, the passenger side seat of my truck is filled with crap, but today, it was minimal, just a couple gallons of vinegar for cleaning my gardening tools, and a new pair of microspikes. He had a fancy wet suit on, which, at thirty-two degrees Fahrenheit, made a lot of sense. “How’s the water,” I said, without thinking. “It’s good,” he replied, “just about the perfect level. The only complaint is coming over the falls. It’s a little hard on the back”. He went on to explain that with higher water, there’s a bit more of a cushion, in that particular spot. Otherwise, he implied, it was just right. Earlier that morning, I’d read a post, from a nursery owner in Peacham, who was a little concerned about the water levels, being low for spring. “Water, water, everywhere, and not a drop to drink”. That’s kind of the feeling, here in Vermont. I just looked that up, and it’s line from “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner”, 1978, by Samuel Coleridge. I don’t know if they still teach that in college. But we’re definitely up against some gnarly water issues in this state, with wetlands protection being such a priority. I understand it in theory but in practice, it’s coming from a wrong-headed, top-down direction, and rural people are not buying it, not as its being proposed with Act 181. I guess I keep my head screwed on straight, but keeping my heart in the woods. We took a ramble today, down into some obscure country, that the state used to call “Beaver Meadows” but does little to maintain anymore. You’ve got to really want to go there, to find it. I’ve followed my nose in, from several directions. I’m trying hard, to connect the dots. I finally broke down and got a GPS device, that describes instantaneously, the terrain I’m covering. I still don’t know how I feel about it, but its helps expand my knowledge. We only had a couple hours, for today’s foray. Which was fine, because I had writing work, poetry edits and a trip to the post office & hardware store, scheduled, for the afternoon. We parked at the forest road gate. This time of year, with a full reveal of surrounding hills, is also deeply educational. For those with a visual memory, seeing hills merged with the trunks of a winter forest, and as it carries into spring, is a precious thing. It will help me not feel completely subsumed by the intense greenery to come. We followed what I’ve dubbed “the million dollar driveway”, for a while. There is one seasonal house, with an Airbnb cabin at the end, a mile in. A small, private parcel, that has maintained its status, despite all other lands around being designated “wilderness”. However, town land hidden back here, is easy to access, though few would know. We veered off the gravel road at our first sight of the marsh, still half frozen, and stumbled along deer paths past beaver-gnawed stumps until spotting the lodge. Ice on the pond still, only releasing, at the edges. Then, the honking began, and a pair of geese flew down to let us know, we were disturbing a nest. We walked quietly, around, and continued to make ourselves quiet. For making ourselves quiet, wherever possible, is a super power. And I, for one, would rather learn that lesson, in the forest, from a bird.”