Years ago in Germany my father used to walk out into the countryside until he got tired and then stop at the nearest pub for a phone call and a refreshing glass of beer while he waited for my mother to drive over and pick him up. Towns and villages in vermont aren't nearly so conveniently laid out, so I've gotten used to the notion that when I walk out I'm also going to have to walk back.
Sometimes that doesn't work out quite as simply as it might. There's always something new to see around the next bend in the trail, and just for good measure the last half-mile of any trek is pretty much bound to be uphill. (If I wanted to come home by way of the tower in the park I could get a good quarter mile of downhill, but somehow I don't think it would help.)
So for yesterday's walk, after a fine day's outing to King Arthur, I wanted to explore the section of trail that leads out of the North Branch nature center into East Montpelier. Those of you even slightly familiar with the local geography might have spotted the first problem with this plan, namely that the nature center is about a mile from our house as the crow flies, and crows don't have to worry about walking up hill, down dale, or around ravines and thickets.
What with the pleasant topographical excursions and plenty of mushrooms, tree trunks, Vistas, flowersand angry birds to take pictures of it was the better part of an hour getting to the nature center, which of course is at the diagonally opposite end of a field from the footbridge that leads to the trail that leads to the trail that leads to the trail through East Montpelier. The dragonflies were buzzzing energetically through the swamp on the other side of the river, but they would not stop to pose.
At the intersection of the uphill trail with the one that leads back toward town I was set upon by a couple of dogs (or at least so their owner seemed to think as he apologetically leashed them) a retriever of unvertain heritage and a young bulldog who nuzzled my hand enthusiastically and then started trying to jump on my outstretch arm in a desperate attempt to see as high as my waist. From there I was pretty much on my own.
I won't say it's boring, but the East Montpelier trail follows the shoulder of the hillside, with no view to speak of, as it angles uphil and north. Those two things -- the hope of a payoff and the knowledge that at least the early part of the walk back would be downhill -- kept me going. The bridges over a couple of ravines are much more sturdily built than any of their Montpelier counterparts, and the trail is mostly wide and dry.
As usual in the forest, you can see a big clearing coming from quite a ways off by the quality of the light and the appearance of plants that couldn't gow in a completely cover understory. But I was still a little surprised to see this. About as bucolic a view as you could ask for, and the trail started heading back down as it paralleled the edge of the field. Oh, and it was about 6:30, and I'd started out about quarter to 5. (If you follow this link you'll see Sparrow Farm somewhere around the E in East Montpelier.)
So back down, and then up, and then down again, and I didn't even notice not making the wrong turn that takes you to the electric-fenced field overlooking the back of town. As I passed by the lawn on the other side of the river from the recreation center pool, there were three guys playing horseshoes. From their voices I'd thought they were old, but on sight they were in their late 20s or early 30s, one full-bearded, another long-haired, the third drinking beer sitting on a couple of cooler. The horseshoes spiraled as they flew, and one I saw actually hooked the post.
As I came across the driveway I could hear the humming of a bird at my window feeder. I stood still as it swiveled out and hovered at attention, then went back to feed. Several times it answered angry chirps from other hummingbirds waiting their turns in the birch tree; every time it stood out on guard from the feeder I could hear the humming of its wings increase in volume, as if it were sending out a pulse of sound when it braked to a stop in midair.
Posted by wallich at July 25, 2004 02:32 PM