6.17.13 RiverLove

The range was so beautiful today, rain splattering, gullies filled with fresh rainfall, everything sodden after so many unusual June days of rain. The forest was filled with the sound of the rushing stream, the waterfall, the millions of water droplets falling, falling from the branches of the trees the woods over. What a symphony. 

Here, my little bear German Shepherd pup rambled off-leash for the second time, and was simply amazed at the hills, the sudden drop off of land down to the stream bed, the waterfall, the delight of running on the soft bed of old pine needles as smells filtered to both of us and the silence, save that of wind and water, surrounded us.

People here have taken to actually checking the weather reports for the days it WON'T be raining, farmer's fields swamped, some backroads closed off due to flooding. Those of us with seedlings keep covering and uncovering them, in a vain attempt to prevent rot, but what can the farmers do, but hope?

Yet some are pleased as punch with the temporary field ponds we usually have only in early spring...and of course our beloved water table is flourishing. 

We had three young neighborhood Wild Turkey hens, coming by day after day, crossing the street from the range over to the field next door, then making their way down to the Connecticut. But some driver raced by and caught one sweet hen, and then there were two. Who kept coming by day after day, but I did not see them cross over to the range any longer. Last week, one settled down in a small round garden in which I had planted squash seeds, and she looked so delighted I didn't have the heart to run her off. I considered it, but as I stepped outside, she went to the ground, small head poking up watching, so I turned on my heel, smiling, and returned to the house.

Yesterday, I peeked out the kitchen window to see not two, but three turkeys  wandering by, eating our grubs nicely and watching cautiously . The two hens had found a  young Tom whom they seemed to like, thank you very much. 

Vital for keeping watch when they are growing their eggs and chowing down with such serious intent, the poor Tom fluffing his feathers at every questionable encounter  until his poor feathers tire and his fluff up results in a few half mast feather efforts, and no more. 

Later, these young ones will join a larger flock of  young and old, to wander, at dawn, searching for small delectable  insects and seeds and such. 

Down on the Connecticut, Mallard pairs, Merganser Ducks, 

Hawks of many kinds, and an enormous Cedar Waxwing community are thriving, singing happily in the rain and insect-thick sunsets, while intermittent floods of young fish come down the river in waves, covering the surface with their nibbling mouths, gobbling up the evening's offering of small flying meals, as one wonders which fish eggs hatched this time. 

An elegant Great Blue Heron stands on the banks, enjoying an endless binge of easy pickings.

 In the meantime, the hills are filled with blossoming Mountain Laurel, elusive Bloodroot, and Lady slippers sprinkled throughout the woods.

One of the advantages of having a dog. Or two. Or three, if you have a visitor, is that you MUST go for walks. The larger the dog, the more frequent and longer the walks. The almost 16 year old needs small snuffling meanders, so I give these to her on various sidewalked neighborhoods in town, to keep things interesting. The pup needs places to learn about off leash and train and explore, so the range and woods are perfect for that. On our way across the street to the forest a few days ago,  I spotted two Peregrine Falcons doing a wild, speed mating dance ranging across the skies, sending all the Broadwing and Redtail Hawks fleeing the neighborhood, lest they end up blood lust fuel for the falcons. Falcons move with such undeniable speed and facility, swerving and twisting in flight in ways no Hawks manage. Their wing tips are turned down into a sharp point, and their every move is economy and beauty. We have falcons that nest annually at nearby Umass, and at times they venture in this direction, causing all kinds of excitement to the Audubon people, when I call and report in a sighting. 

When we entered the woods, damp and fragrant, I took the 13 week old pup off his leash, and, struck by leashlessnes, he stayed by my side with the exception of discovering the waterfall, which was really too much to expect anyone to stay by anyone's side, don't you think??

 He was simply amazed at the hills, the sudden drop off of land down to the stream bed, the waterfall, the delight of running on the soft bed of old pine needles as smells filtered to both of us and the silence, save that of wind and water, surrounded us.

The next wet wet day, we went by The Northampton State Hospital, or The Dog Park, as we dog people call the woods. Years ago I knew the hospital well,  when I managed residential homes and helped clients come and go from the hospital when they needed to, listening  to both horrible and tender memories different individuals had. Now the buildings are gone, the field at the end of the lane has a large anonymous grave of so many people, finally a few years ago acknowledged by a small plaque. 

It continued to pour, as we strolled down through the woods and onto the path, greeting the happiest dogs in the happiest dog place in town.