A Spring in the Middle of the Enchanted Woods

It was the backpacking trip . . . that wasn't. With cooler temperatures arriving after Thursday's rain, my husband and I had hoped to get out on our first fall backpacking trip of the year on Friday night. But a more thorough perusal of the online weather map and forecast yielded this news: rain was expected to arrive early in the morning on Saturday.

It's no fun backpacking and having to get up early to pack your (possibly soaked) gear up and hike out in the rain. I'm a girl who likes to lollygag in my tent in the morning. I take along stuffed animals, a pink iPod shuffle, and a magazine. I love my tent even more than those blanket forts we constructed in the living room when we were kids. What fun would it be to rush out in a hurry and miss all of that?

So we punted, and went on a day trip instead, on this, one of my Freedom Fridays. And instead of Quehanna, which would have been our backpacking destination, we went hiking into a hollow we know of in Sproul State Forest. We packed a very nice picnic lunch of chicken sandwiches on fresh French bread, and salad (lettuce, tomatoes, radishes, and cucumbers) with ranch dressing.

We carried our daysacks, chairs, a small folding table, a tiny cooler, and a tote bag full of snacks; and stopped on the hillside not far into our hike and ate everything we brought. With the little table, it was very civilized, and even without the Limoges china, I felt like I was living out a scene from the film Out of Africa.

When we were done, we hid the table and the tote bag full of empty containers behind a tree on the hill, and continued our hike down into the hollow. There is a spring near the cabin where the trail begins, and it was perking along nicely. However, as we walked down the hill, we discovered much to our surprise and even chagrin that the main stream that runs through the valley - its laughing brook, its life source - had run dry!

Even worse, there were small isolated pools with fish trapped in them. I do not know how long they will survive, but we had nothing with us, no way to help them. It seems like it's rained a lot in the part of central Pennsylvania where we live, but apparently that hasn't been uniformly the case, as the hollow itself was dry, and very, very quiet.

But we continued our walk down the hill to a big spring we know that burbles up out of the ground among a large stand of hemlocks, some of them 200 to 300 years old. If you walk further down this hill, you will reach the mighty Susquehanna River.

As we arrived at the spring, we heard a hawk cry high overhead. And from that point on, there was water again; and everything was lush and green and beautiful. And we drank from the spring and the water was sweet and good and fresh.

Such a miracle: fresh, clean water. One perfect black-and-blue butterfly, a red-spotted purple, flew down the spring and landed not far from me on a wet rock in the shallowest part of the water. I got a single decent shot of it sitting by the spring. Who knows how many creatures drink from these magic waters?

My husband and I always take library books along to read, and a tunes box with sounds to jam to. So we listened to some good music and I read a little, but mostly I walked around with my camera. The photo above is one I took of the spring run, looking lovely and green.

My husband, reading the latest Terry Brooks Shannara book, told me he thought it looked like Arborlon, the kingdom of the Elves. And I must say that I agree. I can imagine Elves or Fairies dancing here; or perhaps, riding in on large black-and-blue butterflies . . .

And then the afternoon grew older, and it was time to leave, but my husband didn't want to. Once you get him into the woods, there is no getting him out! Unless you consider extreme measures, like dynamite. But finally, I convinced him the cat would be sitting waiting, hungry, at home. And we had other lives to live, and so we packed up our stuff, retrieved the hidden items from behind a tree, and headed back to the car.

There was one last little treat for us before we left the parking lot. I had set my chair up, and changed from boots to shoes, and sorted some things out, getting ready to pack the car to go home. And suddenly my husband was standing behind me pointing and shouting: "SNAKE!"

And I turned and looked, and grabbed my camera, of course, for I am a lover of snakes. And there behind me on the ground by my shoes was a wiggly shoestring. Or rather, what LOOKED like a shoestring. In actuality, it was one of the smallest, most adorable snakes I've ever seen.

And so we instantly named the snake "Shoestring." Or more formally, Samuel "Shoestring" Slitherin. I tried to take its picture, and I did get a photo or two, but it didn't want me in its face, and the poor little scaredy-snake took off and hid beneath my car!

I looked all around it before we pulled out, hoping the snake would escape to safety rather than getting accidentally run over by my car. I checked the ground after we pulled the car out and there was no sign of an injured snake. So I think he (or she) made it. Which makes me happy. As we believe that if we cannot HELP our fellow creature, at least we should first do no harm.

Rain is in the forecast, and we are to get some remnants of Hurricane Harvey in the coming day or two. So I am hopeful that the main stream will begin to run in these enchanted woods; and its laughter will echo from the trees again.

And that the fish who are trapped in the isolated pools on the hill may be set free to roam again; and that all life shall return. And that all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all shall be well . . . So may it be.

The soundtrack is a song I love and I've only ever used it once before on Blip so here it is once again: the marvelous Peter Gabriel tune, Red Rain. He is joined in this tune by guests Natalie Merchant (10,000 Manicas) and Michael Stipe (R.E.M.), from two of my favorite 80s bands.