Hike Bernardston MA to Vernon Town Forest

 Back in June when Wayne and I were scouting all roads into Vernon as part of a quest to locate state line markers, we decided to drive up Bald Mountain road in Bernardston even though the map showed it falling short of the border. We ended that expedition at the western side of Satans Kingdom at the Norcross Wildlife Sanctuary with a gate on the right, a narrow road to the left, and another hike added to our bucket list. 

It was on the third weekend in September, that we decided we'd better get after that hike as the flying teeth and rainy weather which had plagued us all summer had miraculously relented. Prior to this hike and a couple of summers ago, Wayne and I had found ourselves good and lost in Satans Kingdom Wildlife Management area and so we better prepared and brought with us trekking poles, a backpack with first aid kit, water, our best bug spray and our hiking shoes. What we found however, was a family friendly two and a half hour round trip hike with cell service the entire way.

There is a pull off just before the gate that will accommodate a couple of cars.

We took the narrow road to the left of the gate.

We found the trail wet in some places but otherwise very well maintained.

Though I was able to locate this brook on the map, I wasn't able to find its name. 

 Though the trail is uphill, it is a gradual incline.

We hiked past a second gate about a mile from the first. 

Logging in the sanctuary allows for new growth thus increasing biodiversity. 

There is another choice to be made. You can either go north westerly towards I-91 and an old airport field or head north east towards the Vernon Town forest. We chose the trail to the town forest which is nicely marked by large White Pine perched atop an outcropping. 

Here the trail begins to change from what looked like an old road  to more of  a woodland hiking trail.

We had seen coyote scat along the trail and now began to see deer tracks.

I began wishing that I had worn mud boots!

Red blazes on either side of this tree and a check of Google Maps confirmed that we were at the state border.

Wayne decided to press on to see if we could recognize the town forest trail system and in doing so we skirted the state border heading north east for a bit.

The trail of course split again and so we thought to follow our animal friend's tracks only to discover that they it seemed couldn't make up their minds either. Wayne checked Google Maps once more and discovered that though we didn't recognize the trail, we were in the south western most corner of the Vernon Town Forest. 

Pause for the beauty of the forest around us.

A Black Gum stands at the edge of a swamp in the Vernon Town Forest

We came across the familiar green diamonds of the VAST trail system which is overseen by the Vernon Trail Breakers Snow Mobile Club; but on this day, both directions lead to flooding on the trails.

We decided to hike back to where the trail split and hike towards the old airstrip. Those who know me, understand my delight at finding this cryptic rock on the trail! I think it was trying to inform us that many vehicles had scraped bottom on their way to hunting grounds.

Here the trail turns to mowing and we found a cultivated rosebush along it.

There is a large building which is clearly visible on Google Earth and Wayne later found on a map that there is a pond behind it.

A post leaning against a tree marks the end of Bald Mountain Rd.

The large open airfield isn't far from the end of the road. I-91 is clearly audible at the field.

We decided to hike towards the state line and Roaring Brook Wildlife Management Area. We found an old apple tree along the way and a hunter's blind at the edge of the field.

The vegetation that had been at shin height in the field, changed to waist high about a mile out from Roaring Brook WMA. Wayne and I thought it was better to save the rest of that hike for a winter's day on snowshoes. So we decided to backtrack again and try the hike where Bald Mountain Rd had ended down to the first gate. - Norma Manning 

Response to Nature

 I have a theory that prompts me to write about cheese. My theory is this, humans bred short legged Basset hounds because of the Coonhound's love for cheese. I began formulating this hypothesis while sitting at our dining room table carefully positioning our food towards the center so that Luna couldn't reach it. Luna you see, is highly food motivated and will stand at our table with her head resting on it with the most sorrowful eyes. Meanwhile, our small dog Ginny sits politely at Wayne's feet waiting hopefully for an errant morsel.  Of course, none of this is actually the reason why Basset Hounds were selectively bred for short legs, but I think that it sheds light on how observation and experience spurs conjecture. 

While hastily creating an egg and cheese breakfast sandwich, I made the rookie error of leaving the cheddar cheese on the counter when I grabbed my toast from the toaster. I turned around just in time to catch Luna taking a careful lick of the cheese. I firmly told Luna, "hot!" which she understands because her curiosity once dumped hot coffee on us. Well there was nothing left to do but offer a bit of cheese to Ginny. Ginny for her part, sniffed at the cheese, stood up and backed away. So there I was, holding Luna in a drooling sit stay, with Ginny acting like I was offering her broccoli. Now Ginny hadn't always shied away from cheese, her aversion began after Wayne started hiding her medicine in it. Perhaps Garcia, Koelling and Pavlov were on to something. Truthfully, I had never heard of Garcia and Koelling's Selective Association Effect until cross referencing the famous Pavlov's  Conditioned Response  theory for this writing. 

I decided in a most unscientific way to experiment with the residents of Vernon. I posted two photographs with the caption, "My Asters are Blooming." Twenty-four hours later with a vote of 30 likes to 8 on the Vernon VT Facebook Group, butterfly beat out bee.

Near the end of August a resident informed me of a very large hive that they wished could be removed. The trouble was that it wasn't on their property. I kept watching the hive from a respectful distance until my curiosity could no longer be contained. When I walked over to take a picture this week, the property owner greeted me while expressing how beautifully constructed the hive was. With some excitement, they told me of their wonderful plans for it once the weather cooled. 

Though I am in agreement with the hive lover,  I'm not too smug to scoff at the resident who wanted the hive removed; for this week, my Facebook Memories included a post which had prompted many comments along the lines of "Burn the house down!" and "Now you have to move."

Much to my dismay, another post to Vernon VT Facebook Group, created a stream of statements as to why chipmunks are the bane of lawn owners everywhere; and here I was thinking that everybody would love to see these cute baby chipmunks.

I often note residents concern over fox, fisher, skunk, bear, bobcat...visiting their properties. Yesterday morning I spooked a large bobcat from my Rhododendrons. Our encounter lasted only seconds as the big cat wanted nothing to do with me and vanished into the area of my yard that I let grow up each summer. Understanding that a bobcat's primary food source is rabbit and not humans, that cat had more to fear of me than I it. In fact, seeing this little guy along the side of Governor Hunt Rd gave me more pause for concern than the bobcat darting out in front of me

. 

I think that it's important when encountering challenging situations in nature, that we take the time to really understand where those feelings come from before we burn down the house. Have we like Ginny associated all cheese with a bitter pill? Do we think that our house and property are in eminent danger because conjecture dictates it? Would it help if I told you that the Bassett hound was not bred in response to the Coonhounds ability to snatch cheese from the dinner table. It was instead bred to hunt small game like rabbits. -Norma Manning

To An Important Someone

I have a message to deliver to an important someone: I like your wings. In fact, I like everything about your wings. 

When a seemingly unrelated beautiful thing collides with another without ever having met and it somehow produces the answer that the other is seeking, that's called serendipity. 

To the child who spent a warm summer's day by the water studying and collecting smooth pebbles and  who also selected a perfect stick for a day of adventure then left your treasure at the base of a certain tree where I was sure to spy it while placing my fishing pole in the back of my car thus stopping me in my tracks and prompting me to capture it with my camera, I want to tell you that I see your wings and they are wonderful!

I hadn't immediately known exactly what it was that I wanted to say to you; but Kindergarten is a magical place full of questions, exploration and vision. As it so happened (while studying the lifecycle of a butterfly), our room was filled with scientists and possibilities who were busily imagining and coloring the most remarkable things. It was then as I moved across the room in a most unremarkable way, that I heard one say to another, "Do you like my wings?" It was at that question that I caught my breath for the slightest of moments, for I at once knew. -Norma Manning 

Summer Enters The Trail, A sense of Purpose Leaves It

 When I was a small child and well into my double digit years, I imagined that I rode a Mustang. These were the years before pocket computers and automobiles with screens. With five of us kids in the car, our choices were limited to reading, playing Mad Libs and fighting.  Being a military family often away from home, we spent our summers in the car and so I spent my days riding my bareback Bay. I would glance at myself  through the car window, my hands filled with mane with my weight much too far over his withers. The sun and the wind in my face, I raced our car and was well known far and wide for winning.  But during the night as I was falling asleep, I was an eagle coasting on the airstream, first high above the earth seeing all that there was to see, and then flying through neighborhoods and houses that we had left behind. I often found myself gliding into and then out of Mrs. Munn's or McCallum's classroom only to find myself back at home with my family in the morning.

My mother thought of me a bit of an oddity in a family of three brothers and a sister who would often beat them at their own games. My grandmother gifted me a Mrs. Beasley doll, I had a carpet sweeper that I was particularly fond of and mom made sure that I had dresses with patent leather shoes for special occasions like Sundays. The truth is, that when I was five, I married Frankie many times behind the bushes out front; but Patty and I were the best of friends because he had a swing set in his backyard that was just like the one at the playground. As Patty's friend, I could fly so high that I caused the Earth to tilt just enough for my feet to rise above my head.  

I used walk my imaginary German Shepard, Sparky on the end of an imaginary leash. There I was walking down the sidewalk with outstretched arm (Sparky was a puller), on my way to Gracie's house not caring a lick of my family's dignity. Of course, as I got older I too became aware of how this might have looked and so I held my arm close to my side with my wrist slightly flexed. Sparky was older by then and of course much better behaved on a leash.  

These tender memories flooded my consciousness like the golden light of a late summer's day as Wayne and I exited the forest on Basin Rd. Being the last day before students returned to school, I had entered the trail both resenting the loss of freedom that comes with summer's end and feeling myself pulled towards intention again. 

There in the parking lot was a car whose doors slid open springing forth two dogs that seemingly filled all of the space between the car and the forest as they tumbled over one another. A woman's voice preceded her to the other side of the car, she carried with her slightly too much purpose for the scene and so I caught myself hesitating to see what was next. Three young children with long straight hair wearing summer dresses and sandals gracefully emerged from the back seat. They had in their arms  front packs, back packs and dolls. The children caused me to wonder if they were truly going for a hike in the woods or perhaps if they were actually entering a magical forest straight from section 398.2 in the school library.  As they helped each other secure their dolls into their packs, it occurred to me that summer had entered the trail, but a sense of home had left it. 

I wish that I could have seen their muddied knees, tangled hair and panting dogs as they left the forest; but then that is their story to tell. -Norma Manning