Foretastes of Heaven

Spring Overlook,
Moreau Lake State Park

June 21, 2010

When the yellow lily flowers in the meadows,
and the red in dry lands and by wood-paths,
then, methinks, the flowering season has reached its height.
They surprise me as perhaps no more can.
Now I am prepared for anything.HDT's Journal, July 7, 1852


Solstice Greetings to One and All!

A year ago, I celebrated this day by taking the trail up to Spring Overlook.
I walked alone and saw many wonderful things.
It was time to go up there again.
This time, there were four of us making the journey:
Jackie, Rebecca, Cliff and myself.
Among other things, it was a quest to see the Wood-Lilies, which are blooming now on the sunny slopes off the trail.

The last time I came up here, on a gently warm spring day of this year, the path was lined with violets.
Today, there were only a few lonely bluets here and there to echo the sky's color.

You have to look harder at this time of year to see the life in the shady woods.

But as Thoreau notes in his Journal, the flowers have progressed from pale and gentle colors, through yellows and orange, to culminate in the ultimate summer flower - what he called the Red Lily.

It "makes freckles beautiful," he said.

Somehow it hides in the ferns, and one can walk past it unknowing.

But once it catches your eye, you are drawn to it, helpless as a butterfly to resist.

Lily-Hunters: Mission Accomplished !

Ah, that's a bit misleading -- despite the fact that we are doing a survey of these native flowers, we are also taking it easy on this walk, letting summer into all of our senses.

Once at the Overlook, we all just stand there awhile.
I confess that I was talking too much. It seems a holy place.
Eventually we all settled down --
being still -- absorbing the sun's rays -- botanizing -- as befit each of our natures.

Your attention is torn between the beautiful view in front of you--

and the fact that on the rocks behind you -- blueberries are ripening in nursery colors.

It's great to have friends in high places.

No, this is not a photo of an altitude-sickness attack :

I had suggested we start a tradition of eating a blueberry without using one's hands.
We all partook.
Jackie thought I had said that this was ALREADY a time-honored tradition, and with her usual gusto, gave it a try.

Bobbing for vaccinium !

(Later, no one took me up on doing the same with the red raspberries we found. Doing the limbo under those prickly canes did not appeal to anyone.)

We all agreed, however, that it was a wonderful way to spend a Midsummer's Day.

Are our serene moments
mere foretastes of heaven
Joys gratuitously vouchsafed to us
as a consolation –
Or simply
a transient realization of what might be
The whole tenor of our lives?
Journal, June 22 1851

Tender Organizations

May 23, 2010
Dunham's Bay Marsh, Lake George, NY

I see a great many young and tender dragon-flies,
both large and small, hanging to the grass-tops and weeds and twigs which rise above the water still going down.
They are weak and sluggish and tender-looking,
and appear to have lately crawled up these stems
from the bottom where they were hatched,
and to be waiting till they are hardened up in the sun and air.
 Where the grass and rushes are thick over the shallow water,
I see their large gauze-like wings vibrating in the breeze
and shining in the sun.
It is remarkable that such tender organizations
survive so many accidents.
Thoreau's Journal, May 22, 1854

While out paddling in any quiet water this time of year, it’s impossible not to notice the dragon-flies. They seem to be everywhere, perched on reeds or resting on lilypads.


Their reputation is one of great hunters (and devourers of many mosquitoes!). Alas the hunter often becomes the hunted, being himself preyed upon by many marshland birds, intent on feeding their hidden young.

Today while paddling in the marsh, I noticed something curled up on a lily pad.
Wasn't sure what it was, until I got much closer:

I pulled the boat in among the reeds to steady it, and watched a dragon-fly trade his aquatic existence for a more aerial life.

 The birds appear especially alert to take advantage of them, when in this tender condition.

 Blackbirds and kingbirds swooped out over the water, flycatching, and at times dipping down to pick up insects from the water’s surface.

So while in one respect, I was intruding upon a very private scene,
perhaps in a way my presence helped to keep the birds away, at least for now.

It took forty minutes for him to undergo the change from creeping nymph to winged beauty. In a sudden gust of wind, the wings snapped into an open position.

A minute later, came a second gust of wind --and he lifted up up up
and flew out of sight.
Nothing left here on earth except the husk of his former self.

Once the process started, I could not look away. Is it birth? Re-birth? Metamorphosis?

I could only think of the term used back in Thoreau’s day –

“He did not die, but was instead translated
into a higher existence …”

The art of spending a day

May 7, 2010

Otter's Point, Moreau Lake State Park

The art of spending a day!

If it is possible that we may be addressed,

it behooves us to be attentive.

If by watching all day and all night,

I may detect some trace of the Ineffable,

then will it not be worth the while to watch?

My profession is to be always on the alert to find God in nature —to know his lurking places.

      HDT Journal, September 1851

It was the last weekday of my vacation, and a sunny one.
How best to take advantage of it?

I went someplace I had not been for some time - Otter's Point.

Going by foot (instead of paddling in from the river) can be a dicey proposition at this time of year, due to all the swampy areas along the river's edge. In the winter the walking is easy here, and one can walk directly from cove to cove.

I took the liberty of mentally renaming this area, from “Potter's Point” to “Otter's Point,” since we've all found plenty of sign of otters in this area. And a month ago, I was lucky enough to SEE one here.

It was a walk through a dark sloping woods. The faint path led past a glacial pothole (watch last last step!)

and ferns of all types. In this cool shady woods, you could still find plenty of polygala, starflower and violets everywhere.


Out at the point of land we call Rippled Rocks, there was a different assortment of plants in bloom - checkerberry, strawberry, a few pink lady-slippers - and a plant new to me – chokeberry - which was blossoming freely along the rocky shore.

The very rocks seemed to be alive and growing, with lichens surrounding sparkly flecks on the surfaces.

In the smallest of puddles, exposed on the rocky shelf, a yin-yang of frog.

I sat awhile out at the far end of the point, enjoying the sun on my face and the riverwind.

Despite being surrounded by beauty, I confess that I was feeling a little grumpy and disappointed - not seeing any otters, or other spectacular sights. I was taking the small things for granted.

Fortunately, when I do that, Nature often conspires to bonk me over the head and teach me a lesson.


It was time to head home. On the sunny roadway back to my car, I walked past masses of yellow honeysuckle bushes, in full bloom. 
Quite forgetting my childhood joy of gathering nectar from the tiny flowers -  instead, I pouted. "Big deal, not native"... I brushed by them peevishly.


Then wait ! something dark flitted from one bush to another.

 It was a black swallowtail butterfly.

And she was so intent on her nectar-gathering that she did not flee, and posed for a portrait.

Lesson learned, and thank-fullness returned.

(from HDT's The Natural History of Massachusetts:)
Surely joy is the condition of life.
Think of the young fry that leap in ponds,
the myriads of insects ushered into being on a summer evening,
the incessant note of the hyla
with which the woods ring in the spring,
the nonchalance of the butterfly
carrying accident and change painted in a thousand hues upon its wings …

As Strange a Country

Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Spring Overlook, Moreau Lake State Park

Two or three hours’ walking will carry me
to as strange a country as I expect ever to see.
HDT, Walking

Today is the midpoint of a weeklong vacation, and I am enjoying it so far. Getting some things done around the house, and also getting outside almost every day too. No deadlines, no need to turnaround on the trail, just when things are getting interesting.
As for Mr. Thoreau - he tried to do this almost EVERY day:

I think that I cannot preserve my health and spirits unless I spend four hours a day at least — and it is commonly more than that — sauntering through the woods and over the hills and fields absolutely free from all wordly engagements.
You may safely say a penny for your thoughts, or a thousand pounds.
When sometimes I am reminded that the mechanics and shop-keepers stay in their shops not only all the forenoon,
but all the afternoon too, sitting with crossed legs,
so many of them — as if the legs were made to sit upon,
and not to stand or walk upon —
I think that they deserve some credit
for not having all committed suicide long ago.
HDT, Walking

Today was one of those carefree days for me. Jackie and I have planned an all-day walk up to Lake Ann, taking our sweet time along the trail. Friend and fellow blogfan Paul was joining us (even after getting warned about how slowly we tend to cover ground.)
Well let me tell you, that at the end of this day, Jackie laughed and said, "We've covered about 2 miles each way, and it took us SEVEN hours!"
I guess we had better not try doing the Appalachian Trail, since by my calculations, if we walked 7 hours every day at that pace (with no rest days whatsoever) it would take us ... 10.42 years !

I had only been to Lake Ann once,  two winters ago. Why it is called a lake boggles me, since it is a pleasant but medium-sized sphagnum bog, really. After you get to the Spring Overlook, there's a fairly long stretch of vaguely-marked trail leading through a deep hemlock woods on top of the mountain.  It was great to go with companions, since being unfamiliar with that area, I had hesitated to go alone.

Off we went, getting an early start.
The path up to Spring Overlook is familiar and as always, full of interesting sights.

Today our path is lined with violets.

It becomes a sort of pilgrimmage.

(okay, they are really just looking at a red eft).

Overhead, the warblers have arrived ! We heard many more than we saw, but Paul and I were especially happy to be able to connect a few of the songs with visions of the singers themselves ! A tricky thing, since they are hidden well in the new leafy growth above.

Black-throated blue warbler -

Black and white warbler - (who was kind enough to perch in an open spot)

Just before you get to the junction leading off to the Spring Overlook, there is another opening in the woods off to the left. I call it the Moss Garden. Down on our knees again.

Such a mix of beautiful things!
And the plants begin to look like beings from another world -
Pale Corydalis -

Mixtures of the most primitive plants -

And of course, arriving at the Overlook is its own reward.

It was a warm day, and the fresh breezes felt wonderful.

(obviously Jackie has no fear of heights!)

As if to defend this High Garden, there lurked assassins and serpents  -
well okay, an assassin bug - sneaking up on some inchworms?

And a huge garter snake, digesting her bulging breakfast -

(The hat is for scale only, nothing happened to Jackie!)

After a while, we continued over to the Lake Ann Cutoff.
You are walking along the flat top of the mountain now, deeply wooded with glimpses of other overlooks to east and west. The display of understory plants changes along the way.
Painted trilliums like these cooler hemlock woods.

Until finally we reach the end of the Cutoff, at the edge of Mt. McGregor Correctional Facility property.
The signs are a little depressing and downright daunting. Here be real dragons.

But turning off to the side, we reach the Bog, a rarified plant community way up here on top of the mountain.

One can't really walk around the edge, which is a mat of floating moss.
It jiggles when I try to step out onto it.

But like many holy places, it is not meant to be trod upon by us.

The high point of my day (both literally and figuratively) was in this place.
I was delighted to see cranberry plants.

And behold - a cranberry floated there! It had endured the winter, and was still as red as a jewel.
As tempting as an apple in another Garden.
I had never tasted a wild one, and so partook.

We require just so much acid as the cranberries afford in the spring. No tarts that I ever tasted at any table
possessed such a refreshing, cheering, encouraging acid
that literally put the heart in you
and set you on edge for this world’s experiences,
bracing the spirit,
as the cranberries I have plucked in the meadows in the spring … now you can swallow another year of this world
without other sauce.
HDT, Wild Fruits