Nature Connection: A Restorative Walk In The Woods

Some days, weeks, and months can wear a person down a bit. The news gets worse and worse, the losses pile up one on top of another, and even though the weather is beautiful, one can feel melancholy quietly taking over one’s emotions.

It helps to live in a beautiful place, to have good family and friends around, and to be able to get out and about and enjoy it all. Recently I was contacted about giving a semi-private watercolor lesson in Provincetown, and of course I said yes. It’s one of my favorite spots, and if I left early enough, I’d miss a lot of the traffic and get to hang out before the class in one of my favorite spots, Beech Forest.

My morning had begun with an outrageously gorgeous sunrise even as the equally lovely full moon had begun to set. I packed my bag with my watercolor supplies, enough for all of us to share, and headed off before most people were on their way to work or the beach or wherever. Although school had begun in some towns, most were waiting for the following week or even the week after that, so mostly I had the road to myself. 

By the time I reached Provincetown, I had a few hours to spend walking, writing and sketching and I enjoyed every relaxed minute of it. The beech trees are suffering and probably will eventually die off from the destructive beech leaf disease caused by a nematode. Although new treatments are being tried, it may be too late for some areas, including this one. Beech forest is being forced to change, like so many natural areas these days. 

I decided to concentrate on enjoying the morning rather than obsessing about all the horrible environmental things happening, and before long I was engrossed in the beauty around me. 

A bright green frog sat still as a stone in the dark water at the pond’s edge. The water level was exceptionally low, and an American crow was walking about in the mud looking for breakfast. Water lilies were in bloom here and there and they were being buzzed by bees and dragonflies.

I found a well-worn flicker feather on the ground, its edges frayed and tattered. It’s molting season and finding worn feathers isn’t unusual at this time of year. This one looked to be a tail feather with its pointed end, dark top and bright golden yellow underside. Now known as northern flickers, our birds used to be called yellow-shafted flickers. In the west these birds have red where ours have yellow coloration and were once referred to as red-shafted flickers.

I could hear a flicker in the trees above me and wondered if it was the same bird that had gifted me the feather. A red-bellied woodpecker called from across the pond and a towhee whistled from a thicket not too far from me.

Chickadees and titmice checked me out as I checked out numerous fungi that were popping up through the pine needles and mosses. These birds are sometimes fed by well-meaning people, a practice the Cape Cod National Seashore is trying to curtail. Bird memories are long, though, and if you stay in one spot one may land on your head or shoulder, hoping for a handout.

Drought had caused many plants in the undergrowth to dry out, their leaves crisp and curled, but others seemed to have flourished, especially those in shady areas.

I came across a section of white asters that made me smile. Though a sign of the impending fall, they are sweet flowers, appearing fragile but in fact quite tough. The bees were busy in the blossoms and I left them to their early-morning work.

Painted turtles hauled out on trees fallen into the water, and a green heron stood still, no doubt hoping to grab a fish. A pair of wood ducks chatted to each other, and overhead an osprey called. 

I sat for a while and just took it all in, the sweet scents of a woodland among my favorites. I heard a red-eyed vireo and a wood peewee, both birds I associate more with spring songs than late summer, but there they were, singing away. Young birds often test their voices and songs at this time of year, and I figured that’s what these two were up to.

I sketched and wrote a little but mostly I just sat and took it all in. The music of the forest is complex. There’s the sound of the wind in the trees, the bees and birds, the rushing through the leaves of a gray squirrel and the bickering of young red squirrels. Being by a pond, there was also the sound of frogs and many insects.

The tiniest spider I’ve ever seen ran across my sketchbook page and then a big ant wandered over to check out a painted flower, its antennae twitching. Both left as quickly as they had arrived. I heard and felt something on my bench and suddenly a gray squirrel was there, one arm in the air, its head up and nostrils wiggling. Its eyes were wide and for an instant we just stared at each other. Abruptly, the squirrel turned and left.

It was time for me to leave as well. After all, I had students waiting in town. By the time I got there I had a huge smile on my face, the worries of the world forgotten, at least for a few hours.