Field Notes

07.20.09
I am sitting on the logged stump of a once great white pine, in the midst of laurel, royal ferns, marsh ferns, and beech tree stump sprouts. The beavers have created an opening in the canopy here. I turn my face to the sun. A cherry tree that they felled is hung up against a red maple. This place has become a crossroads in the thicket of swamp that surrounds me. I can hear the blue herons cackling on the marsh, the yellowthroat is defending his territory, a bull frog twangs. The air sticks to my skin. There is moisture everywhere and yet there are no mosquitoes. It is strange. They are such a part of this landscape, I wonder why they are missing. There are very few bats this year. White nose syndrome has decimated their population. They eat mosquitoes. There are also fewer swallows. They, too, eat mosquitoes. It has rained constantly. The mosquitoes should be unbearable. Yet there are very few. What does that mean for the habitat as a whole? Is that why there are fewer swallows? What role do mosquitoes play in the ecology of this wetland? They are a nuisance. A danger even, with encepalitis, malaria, and West Nile virus, but they are more a part of this place than I am. Where are they?

There is coyote scat beside me on the stump. There is gold thread at my feet. There is such green abundance all about me, that it overwhelms me. I am at a loss for words in the thick of this northern rain forest. The longer I sit, the more I see, the more I hear, the more I become a part of these woods. This is my neighborhood. My Broadway and 92nd street. My Southie. My barrio. How many people on this planet are sitting in green this morning?

A beech leaf drifts gently to the floor. Why did it fall? There is a reason for everything here. A laurel leaf beside me has been chewed. There is a bird dropping beside it. I followed a bear's trail to this place. This clearing is alive with stories. A logger, the beavers, a moose, birds, bears, deer, and insects unknown and too numerous to count. I could spend a lifetime in this universe and still not know it.
A bumble bee buzzes by.

This is my laboratory. This is my study. This is my office. My camo is my business suit. A noise beside me startles me and my heart jumps. My skin crawls. A rush of adrenaline surges through me. What will I do if it is a bear? I know they are safe, but they are big and they are wild. Walk backwards slowly all the books say. Whatever you do, don't run. But I can't get the fact out of my brain that black bears like to play ball with human heads. A breeze rustles the cattails and then the beech leaves. A mosquito scouts my hand for a place to drill. I pack my pen and slip back into the green.