Autumn in the Woods. December 5, 2019

Copyright © 2019                               John F. Oyler 

December 5, 2019

Autumn in the Woods

For me Autumn began this year when the Harvest Moon made its appearance in mid-October as I was returning home from a visit with my daughter Elizabeth and her family. I had just crossed the Ohio River on the Shipbuilders’ Bridge on I-79 and was in the beginning of the big “S” loop heading up the hill toward Moon Run, heading due east, when suddenly I was confronted by a gorgeous golden, oversize, full moon just above the horizon.

I was immediately struck with the realization that, even though over one thousand full moons have risen in my lifetime, most of which I have observed, the thrill of seeing a full moon is as rewarding as ever. I was reminded of the October evenings in the past when my wife and I would drive over to Pymatuning to watch the Canada geese fly home. The combination of the rising moon in the east and the setting sun in the west and thousands of geese overhead was always a memorable experience.

Autumn came a little later than usual this year to our woods, but was easily as enjoyable as ever. Observing the progress of the seasons is one of the many blessings of living here where we do. Early in the sequence the sugar maples dropped their unique combination of golden, orange, and flaming red leaves, almost all at the same time. There are three or four places I know where this occurs, and I am firmly convinced that the air temperature there is five degrees warmer when it happens. There certainly must be a short circuit between my visual and thermal sensors to explain this.

At the peak of the season the leaves came down so fast that our familiar paths were completely obliterated, forcing one to search his memory for familiar landmarks and retain his orientation. It required at least a week for the paths to be re-established, a classic bittersweet experience that reminds us of our impermanence in nature. We must remember that we are visitors and should act accordingly.

Having introduced the term bittersweet, it is appropriate for me to mention the thrill I get each year when the deep yellow colored skin of its berries pops open, exposing the beautiful red-orange seeds inside them. Their color is a gorgeous, unique shade, duplicated only for a few seconds as a sunset matures or when a blacksmith’s workpiece cools from cherry red toward deep orange (between 1100 and 1000 degrees Fahrenheit). 

This variety of bittersweet, “Celastrus orbiculatus”, is commonly called oriental bittersweet and is considered an obnoxious invasive species. The Defenders of the Park have waged war against it for years. Fortunately I am aware of three spots in our woods that they have missed, and I look forward to their explosion each Fall.

I never venture into the woods without my walking stick. The current version is a special favorite. On the Fourth of July, 1954, a group of us climbed Mount Fuji (3776 meters). Part of this ritual was the purchase of an eight-sided walking stick at the base of the mountain and then having a brand burned into it at each of the stations of the ascent. 

Unfortunately I was unable to bring my walking stick home with me on the troop ship. Three or four years ago Elizabeth and my granddaughter Rachael climbed Mt. Fuji, and, remembering my story, brought back a branded, eight-sided walking stick for me; it has seen good use.

My walks in the woods always include a visit to the tulip tree we had planted in memory of my wife. It is now about twenty feet tall, with a three-inch trunk at its bole. Shortly after it was planted, a buck damaged its bark trying to rub velvet off its antlers. This necessitated my building a rugged fence around it; so far it has been effective.

I have nominated myself as godparent (Lorax?) for all the tulip trees in the woods, at least for the very young ones close to the paths that I frequent. This past year two of them, each about six feet tall, appeared to die and then put out “suckers” near the bottom of their trunks. I removed the dead trunks and am trying to train the strongest sucker in each to become a healthy tree.

A bigger problem is the Freedom Tree. In 1973 the family of Major Robert Pietsch, an Air Force pilot missing in action in Laos since 1968, planted a tree in his memory in an obscure spot in our woods, accompanied by a monument with the inscription “The Freedom Tree, with the vision of universal freedom for all mankind, is dedicated to Major Robert Pietsch”. Eventually the monument was forgotten by everyone except my neighbor, Mike Mongelli, who regularly raked the leaves off it and cleaned its face.

The tree survived until 2008, when it finally died. A few years later the monument was moved to a different location by a group of Girl Scouts and a new Freedom Tree planted. Within a year or two it too died. Two or three years ago I saw a family planting a robust tulip tree near the monument. It was bushy, five or six feet tall, with a one inch trunk. I have checked it frequently, hoping that this version of the Freedom Tree would prosper and perpetuate Major Pietsch’s memory.

Two weeks ago I was shocked to see that it was gone. The trunk had been shattered about a foot from the ground; the bulk of it and the training pole were still tied to the remnant. Rubbings on its bark suggest it was the victim of a buck with itchy antlers. I wish I knew who had planted it so I could notify them. I suspect the root system is still healthy enough to shoot up suckers next Spring. The Freedom Tree must survive!

I enjoy sitting on a bench near the Picnic Pavilion toward the end of my walks and drinking in the atmosphere of the surroundings. By now the leaves are down and most of the undergrowth has disappeared. The only motion anywhere is a trio of gray squirrels auditioning for careers as trapeze artists.

The advocates of deer culling have been quiet lately. I am pleased to encounter a doe and two yearlings, completely oblivious to my presence. A few weeks ago I was thrilled to see an eight point buck. Is it possible that he destroyed the Freedom Tree, trying to rub velvet off his antlers?

Not far from the Freedom Tree is the “Deer Exclosure”. This is a 2012 Eagle Scout project. The Scout fenced off a portion of the woods about fifty feet wide by one hundred feet long as an experiment to evaluate the effect of deer browsing on the undergrowth. It is beginning to appear that there are more saplings inside the exclosure than in the rest of the park. We need a proper census to confirm that. 

The next event in our progress of the seasons ritual will be the lighting of the Solstice Candle on December 21, to remind the sun that it is time to reverse its southern path and allow the days to begin to get longer.

I am grateful for the opportunity to get out into the woods and observe the seasons changing, “close-up and personal”.