The Rebirth of Lower Woods Pond
It was full nighttime darkness when I began the drive. My headlights carved cones of light into the night and I had to blink in the glare of approaching headlights. Then, suddenly, surprisingly, as I crested a steep hill I spotted the first faint layer of daylight lifting above the eastern horizon.
Glancing at the dashboard clock I was relieved to see that there was still more than 40 minutes until sunrise. I would have enough time to arrive at Lower Woods Pond, launch my kayak, paddle to the far end, and view the rising sun illuminate the reborn pond.
At 91 acres Lower Woods Pond was more like a lake. It was set in a basin surrounded by a thick forest of pine, hemlock, maple and oak with an understory of ferns, wild blueberry, and beds of moss. The lake been a long-time favorite of fisherman and kayakers (Including me.) until it was drained in 2012. A leak, discovered in the old dam, posed a significant flood risk for downstream residents. Finally, this spring after numerous delays for studies and permits, and after a one year behind schedule construction project, the dam was repaired, a new spillway built, the water levels rose, and the lake was reborn.
Launching
Parking in dim light near the new boat ramp, I quickly unloaded my kayak, hauled it to water’s edge, grabbed and stowed my gear—binoculars, camera, notebook and a travel mug of still warm coffee. I paused to appreciate the view. Mist floated above the tranquil gray-blue water. Fish splashed busily on the surface. Far away a raven croaked a hoarse cr-r-uck. Along the near shoreline a killdeer called its namesake kil-deer, kil-deer, kil-deer. Behind me in the woods a catbird sang its insistent mew, mew, mew. Plenty of early morning life around the lake I thought.
I edged the bow of the kayak into the water, climbed in, and with a strong push floated free and glided out onto the still water. Paddling past tree tops and marsh reeds protruding above the water, I thought how different it was to kayak on a newly flooded body of water where all was in transition.
With a mile to cover to get to the north end of the lake I paddled quickly, through the diaphanous mist, into the steadily increasing light, past the new spillway, to a spot along the western shoreline where I could secure the kayak and conduct an hour long sit spot.
Sensing
Wedging the kayak into some branches, I used my senses to take in first impressions. I saw faint bands of pink, and yellow and rose D’or lifting into the pale blue sky to the east. Strands of gray mist floated across the still water in front of me. A hawk flew across the lake, flap-flap- glide, perhaps a red-tailed hawk, on the prowl for an early morning meal of a careless mouse or rabbit.
Listening, I head a robin whinny. Out on the lake a wood duck took flight calling a high pitched oo-eek. Back near the boat launch a family of crows cawed loudly. In the woods behind me chickadees sang chick-a-dee-dee while a blue jay called a strident jay, jay, jay.
I felt the subtle rocking-in-water motion of the kayak, uneasily different than sitting on solid ground. I would just have to relax into this liquid medium, maybe call on old comforting muscle memory of floating in an amniotic sea. The slender tips of the reeds swayed and tiny wind-blown ripples appeared on the water and I felt the soft cool touch of the fresh 48 degree air on my face.
Inhaling, I detected the scent of fresh water, of growing and decaying vegetation, and a faint aroma of pine and spruce. Quietly reaching for my coffee mug, I took a sip of home roasted, freshly ground Brazilian beans, and parsed out nutty, chocolatey tastes.
Color
Still ten minutes to sunrise. The morning bird chorus picked up in volume, intensity, and variety. A kingfisher flew by calling a loud dry rattle. A tufted titmouse chanted from the woods behind me. Two blue jays fell into a duet; jay, jay, jay from one answered by jay, jay from the other. A white-breasted nuthatch called an insistent nasal ank, ank, ank. Across the lake a turkey let out a gobble, gobble, gobble and a family of crows launched into a raucous caw, caw, caw conversation.
The melodic overlapping chorus of bird songs pulled me into the mindful present. I remembered reading somewhere that bird songs are a universally understood call from the spiritual realm.
Looking across the lake I noticed shades of orange and pink edging above the horizon. Ah, the sunrise, I thought. The bands of colors grew steadily brighter and surged upwards to fill the sky with a dome of luminous pink-orange. Then, as quickly as the color show arose it faded away and the sky returned to a soft gray-blue blank pallet.
Every sunrise provides a color show, sometimes brilliant, sometimes subtle, and often fleeting. This morning’s bright show seemed to be over. The official time for sunrise came and went. I looked expectantly to the horizon, but there was no sun to be seen in this wooded valley.
Patterns
The strands of mist grew tall and slender and danced away in a puff of wind. The same wind created a grid work of tiny wavelets on the water in front of me. A bug landed on and crawled slowly across my binoculars oblivious to my presence. Was I blending in? Was I becoming part of the landscape?
A fish splashed loudly on the water in front of me. A beaver swam quietly and purposefully across the lake. Two wood ducks winged gracefully across the lake. A single bright red maple leaves floated down and landed on the water. The willow branches around me waved in the breeze. A pileated woodpecker called a resonant kik-kik-kik-kik-kik that echoed through the misty morning air. A golden-crowned kinglet squeaked a high pitched see-see-see. I felt surrounded by a matrix of life flourishing on this reborn lake.
Then an airliner hissed high overhead. A half mile away on Pine Mill Road a truck strained, chugged and putted noisily up a hill shattering the morning stillness. From more than a mile away I heard the high pitched beep-beep-beep of a truck backing up as the construction crew on a bridge project started their day of work.
The soothing spell of nature was broken. A quick burn of annoyance from all of the disruptive industrial sounds coursed through me. A strong gust of the chilly north wind penetrated my fleece. And still there was still no sunrise.
Unexpected
These breaks in the mood, typically triggered by external and internal distractions, were not uncommon during a sit spot. But, I had some ideas on how to respond—take a few even breaths, relax my shoulders and tune back into the sights, sounds, smells and tactile impressions of nature around me.
Listening carefully to the birdsong chorus around me I detected a different yet familiar bird call, a hoarse chack chack. What was it? I quickly turned on my Merlin Sound ID app and saw common grackle register. I scanned the far shoreline trying to spot the bird. The single call grew louder and more and more of the calls rolled together into a chorus.
Looking up I saw an undulating thick column of birds coursing across the sky, a stream of black grackles winging in harmony. I watched in awe, hundreds, no a thousand or more birds flying together on their migratory journey. For a full ninety seconds the grackles flew above me. And then they were gone. Quiet returned.
Such abundance in nature! I wondered how they knew to assemble, how they flew in unison, and how they knew the route. It was, I reflected, another one of those moments of sitting in nature in the right place at the right time to see something awe inducing.
A dog barked from the woods across the lake. A few more barks and then the barks became a cascade of yips and howls. These were coyotes. I was surprised. I’ve heard them at night but never at daybreak.
Later my friend George told me that when the parent coyotes return to the den after a night of hunting the pups emerge and the family reconnects with a brief ceremony of howls, yips and barks. Sometimes the celebration is heightened when the parents bring back a freshly caught rabbit or a squirrel.
Rising
My designated hour was winding down and still no sunrise. I wanted to see the rebirth of the day over the reborn lake. Even though I was feeling cold and stiff from sitting I decided to stay and wait and watch. Then, a bald eagle, white head and tail visible, flew majestically over the lake, massive wings flapping steadily. This had to be a positive sign, I thought.
Looking back to the east, I detected a brightness beaming through the tree tops across the lake. Quickly, steadily, determinedly, the diffuse brightness became a golden ball that pushed up into the sky illuminating the still surface of the reborn lake. I welcomed the first beams of sunlight and welcomed the first hints of sun-warmth touching my face. Gazing at the sunrise and feeling the sun-warmth I suddenly heard the sounds of a full orchestra playing Beethoven’s Ode to Joy flooding my mind. It was a moment of synesthesia, intense vision and touch flowing into melodious sound to capture the rapture and awe of the moment.
Winners and Losers
For a few minutes I savored the sunrise and gratefully took in the warmth. Then, it was time to head home. Pushing out from the branches that had held my kayak steady, I headed out on to the open water of the lake. On an impulse, or perhaps an intuitive urge, I decided to paddle a short distance up the lake and enter the mouth of the little stream that fed Lower Woods Pond. I was only able to proceed a short distance upstream until I came to a little rapids. Pausing to listen to soft sounds of the water trickling over the rocks I was engulfed in feelings of gratitude, gratitude for this small stream ever so quietly, steadily, and unselfishly refilling this lake, recreating this rich cauldron of life and beauty.
A few minutes later, paddling back along the shoreline I glided through brown and gray skeletal trunks and branches of dead birches. There was with the rebirth of the lake both winners and losers. The birches and pines and shoreline grasses and weeds that had opportunistically taken up residence and prospered in the drained lake bed were now steadily and relentlessly being drowned. But other plants, like the water smartweed, were adapting quickly to the new ideal habitat. And the fish and ducks and herons and kingfishers were returning.
Some of the biggest winners were people. On previous visits to the lake I had talked to returning fishermen and kayakers and had been surprised at the depth of their happiness over the return of the lake. Perhaps in an era when all too frequently nature settings are gobbled up development, it is especially heartening to witness the rebirth and return of a beautiful lake. And I was also surprised at the number of enthusiastic newcomers enjoying the lake, people who had never known the old pond but were delighted to find a new place to visit and to connect with nature. Maybe this was an example of “rebuild it and they will come.”
My latest book, Nature’s Pathways to Mindfulness is now available on Amazon and through the publisher, Shanti Arts. Here are the links:
https://www.shantiarts.co/uploads/files/ghi/HARVEY_NATURE.html
Nature’s Pathways to Mindfulness: Harvey, John: 9781962082266: Amazon.com: Books
Here is a link to an article on the restoration project at Lower Woods Pond: