In the early dusk, day before yesterday, dog and man felt a need for a change of scenery. Down here in the lowlands along the west-flowing river, all is cool, green and shady. But it can feel closed in, especially when the humidity starts climbing.
Given the way the topography works here, it only takes a few minutes to change ecosystems. I’ve been feeling a definite lack of whippoorwills, that old-timey lonesome summer bird of twilight and endless, maddening repetition of his name. Some have been known to want to take a shotgun to the poor bird who may have decided to call out from a too-nearby branch next to an open bedroom window.
This bird is a ground-nester, and given the population of cats that roam freely, it has vanished from The Flat. Mother often talked about the whippoorwill that sang here all through the Depression and the War Years when she was growing up on this old farm. When we moved into this homestead in the 70s, we still heard it call from our pasture-gone-to-woodlands. But no more. The farm is no longer a farm, Mother is no longer with us, and the whippoorwill has moved up to the Plains.
So that’s where we headed. The Montague Plains, only a few miles from here, form an unusual ecosystem for the Connecticut River Valley: miles and miles of pitch pines growing in sandy soils , much like the the woodlands of the Cape. Our Millers River, known to the Indigenous peoples as the paguag, created not only our rich bottomlands and terrace where the house is built, but also formed an immense delta during the existence of glacial Lake Hitchcock. The Paguag sent out its silts and sands far out under the surface of the lake, then when the lake drained, the delta, no longer underwater, left miles of beach sand that formed dunes as the winds swept across the exposed estuary fan.
The pines colonized the dunes, and nowadays, it’s perfect habitat for bears, deer, box turtles, towhees and whippoorwills.
Pulling off the road that leads to the spiritualist community center of Lake Pleasant, we get out and walk one of the endless dirt trails that form the Plains labyrinth. Easy to get lost.
Dog goes out ahead of me, this is new terrain for him. I savor the new freshness of pine scent on the evening air, mingling with the pleasant sharpness of sweet fern. Indian spirits are here, ceremonial sites and a lost thunderbird effigy somewhere out in the vastness near Wills Hill in the distance. Dog freezes. Eyes, nose, and ears focused on something in the dark. I freeze too, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, I shiver in spite of the humid evening. Did he just see into the spirit world, did he sense some other danger? I guess it was nothing, or all of that. Nick resumes his scouting, I strain to hear my whippoorwill.
That’s when it starts up, the bird calling his name over and over and over and…I’m kind of glad he’s not singing like this just outside my window. It truly could be maddening. Al-RIGHT already! My craving to hear the old-fashioned bird is quickly vanishing. We motor back to The Flat in the deepening dusk.
The car is parked, we head for the front door. Just then a big black shape lunges out of the neighbor’s front yard. Bear moves across the street in front of us faster than I thought possible. I can hear those heavy leathered paws slapping the pavement as Brother Bear barrels away under the street light into the shadows. He’s got the dark woods on his mind for sure, but I do see him turn a bit to look at us. Is he memorizing our shapes? I wonder what name he has given us? What does he call us? For his own sake, I’m glad he hasn’t gotten over his distrust of either humans or canines.
Nick wants to go see a little closer, I’m pulling in the opposite direction, heading for the front door which I luckily left unlocked. No fumbling for the right key. I win the tug of war with the dog, we’re inside looking out the front window, while bear shrugs and lumbers off into the woods, headed for the river.
Nicky is disappointed he couldn’t get closer, I’m glad the bear skedaddled. Better for him to not get too familiar with us, better to keep our distances. Even though we share the same woods and the same world, even though we may somehow be ancient kindred spirits.
RiverStoriesDavidBrule 