I'd like to say that this morning I found myself boldly going where no man had gone before, but clearly others had bushwhacked through the wilderness before me and left random stuff behind. At one point I asked my companion to identify some unfamiliar foliage on the ground, and she said, "Christmas tree." Which indeed it was: branches from an artificial tree, scattered amongst teasels and ironweed and milkweed in the middle of nowhere.
We were exploring a 44-acre tract of land that had recently been donated to the Friends of the Lower Muskingum River. The hilly land would be ideal for hiking trails and a picnic shelter and a pollinator habitat, but first the group needs to figure out what's there and what needs to be done to make it usable. I offered to go out with the FLMR director and take some photos to put in the newsletter, and that's why I found myself early this morning stumbling through thick stands of giant ironweed and sliding down a deer trail toward a secluded creek.
Butterflies and other pollinators were out in abundance, along with pesky horseflies adept at landing on that unreachable spot in the middle of my back. Up on the ridge (which I'm calling Butterfly Ridge until it gets a real name) we walked in bright sun over the overgrown remains of a gravel drive, but along the creekbanks the foliage closed in and we found ourselves ducking under branches of autumn olive and avoiding thickets of multiflora rose. It's a narrow, twisty creek and we don't know whether it's prone to flooding, but we were pleased to see some small fishes and some easy places to wade across.
At first it looked like untouched wilderness, but by the time were were done, the whole place was overlaid by signs of prior habitation and dreams of what could be there in the future. It doesn't even have a name but it's a place of possibilities visible only to those who are willing to look. But you'll never find the place without a guide, and I was really happy to have a good one this morning.
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