Thursday, November 9, 2006 at 1:01am
Shenandoah Valley magic
Column: Our Place in the Universe
This weekend I ventured into Virginia. The ride over the rolling hills of muted golds and browns spoke of an autumn fast fleeting. I got off the main highway at Front Royal — what a lovely name for a town — and turned onto Skyline Drive. I didn't want to go far, being anxious to get out of the car, so I stopped at Dickey Ridge.
The trial there slopes down and curls around the rocks and ridges on the side of the mountain, but I always seem to be called away from the path. I'm drawn to the sound of water — a small spring, ground-fed, gurgling up from beneath a rock and rolling down the slope. Gentle footsteps approach and I freeze. No need — this doe is drawn to the water as I am, and doesn't mind my company.
I sit in the sun for a while hoping more of her family will appear. I hear, but can't find the woodpecker that is knocking hollowly on a nearby trunk. A nuthatch chortles quietly in the background. I like to listen when I'm in the woods, especially in autumn. The wind rattles the remaining leaves and they scritch and scratch against each other with each soft swell. You can even hear them as they float to the ground, slipping off one branch; bouncing on a twig and then spiraling round and round to land gently at my feet.
As peaceful as this place is I must move on, for despite the sun, the rock I am sitting on is numbing my bum. The dueling notes of two cardinals, both anxious to have the last word, accompany me. I thank the lichen-covered stone that has been my seat, and get up to find the doe still grazing nearby. Oh, my! Still standing near the stone, I now have a perfect view of skinny-dipping sparrows and friends, throwing off sparkling diamond drops as they hop from pool to pebble to limb and shake themselves dry.
The deer is behind me now, and the nuthatch is calling me on to other adventures. As I walk away I notice that the birds and squirrels come along with me. Used to my presence and vibration, I am just one more being in the midst of the life around me. But I have gotten up none to soon. A family of six humans comes barreling down the path! I wonder what they will find with such boisterous energy.
All is quiet again. The deer and birds have flown as I head up hill and come across an old cemetery from the early 1900s. The spirits here are quiet too. I think about all the work those buried had done in order to clear the land for farming. Cutting forest, moving stones — rock piles lie everywhere — creating pastureland and stonewalls. To farm this land meant backbreaking toil. And today? There is not a clear space to be found. The woods have reclaimed it all. Human bones are wrapped lovingly in the roots of beech and oak. Now they truly are part of the land that they loved.
Presently, I come out of the woods and find a seat on a human-made bench — a bit warmer on the bottom — the scenic overlook before me. It's later in the day, and not as chilly as when I started out. More families have arrived with their kids, friends, and dogs. How old are we in relation to these hills, I wonder? They stretch before me undulating like waves. I can imagine the ancient evolution that slowly carving out this vista. I can imagine wind and rain and storm wearing the rough peaks down to the gently rolling hills I see before me. So old, so vast, so free.
This is the Shenandoah Valley: a 140-mile natural passageway formed by ancient oceans, bounded by the Massanutten, Allegheny and Blue Ridge mountain ranges and nourished by the Shenandoah River. In one story it took hundreds of millions of years to shape this valley. In another, the morning stars came together looking for the loveliest place to meet. They sang with joy as they found this fair valley through which a winding river ran. The stars placed their brightest jewels in the river, and lit the blue mountain tops with their robes of fire calling the place Shenandoah, "daughter of the stars."
— — —
Anne E. Ulvestad is a freelance writer residing in Maryland. She has her masters in earth literacy, and is available for public lectures and group presentations on Spirituality and the Environment. Anne can be reached at {email anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com}anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com{/email}. © copyright 2006 by Anne E. Ulvestad
The trial there slopes down and curls around the rocks and ridges on the side of the mountain, but I always seem to be called away from the path. I'm drawn to the sound of water — a small spring, ground-fed, gurgling up from beneath a rock and rolling down the slope. Gentle footsteps approach and I freeze. No need — this doe is drawn to the water as I am, and doesn't mind my company.
I sit in the sun for a while hoping more of her family will appear. I hear, but can't find the woodpecker that is knocking hollowly on a nearby trunk. A nuthatch chortles quietly in the background. I like to listen when I'm in the woods, especially in autumn. The wind rattles the remaining leaves and they scritch and scratch against each other with each soft swell. You can even hear them as they float to the ground, slipping off one branch; bouncing on a twig and then spiraling round and round to land gently at my feet.
As peaceful as this place is I must move on, for despite the sun, the rock I am sitting on is numbing my bum. The dueling notes of two cardinals, both anxious to have the last word, accompany me. I thank the lichen-covered stone that has been my seat, and get up to find the doe still grazing nearby. Oh, my! Still standing near the stone, I now have a perfect view of skinny-dipping sparrows and friends, throwing off sparkling diamond drops as they hop from pool to pebble to limb and shake themselves dry.
The deer is behind me now, and the nuthatch is calling me on to other adventures. As I walk away I notice that the birds and squirrels come along with me. Used to my presence and vibration, I am just one more being in the midst of the life around me. But I have gotten up none to soon. A family of six humans comes barreling down the path! I wonder what they will find with such boisterous energy.
All is quiet again. The deer and birds have flown as I head up hill and come across an old cemetery from the early 1900s. The spirits here are quiet too. I think about all the work those buried had done in order to clear the land for farming. Cutting forest, moving stones — rock piles lie everywhere — creating pastureland and stonewalls. To farm this land meant backbreaking toil. And today? There is not a clear space to be found. The woods have reclaimed it all. Human bones are wrapped lovingly in the roots of beech and oak. Now they truly are part of the land that they loved.
Presently, I come out of the woods and find a seat on a human-made bench — a bit warmer on the bottom — the scenic overlook before me. It's later in the day, and not as chilly as when I started out. More families have arrived with their kids, friends, and dogs. How old are we in relation to these hills, I wonder? They stretch before me undulating like waves. I can imagine the ancient evolution that slowly carving out this vista. I can imagine wind and rain and storm wearing the rough peaks down to the gently rolling hills I see before me. So old, so vast, so free.
This is the Shenandoah Valley: a 140-mile natural passageway formed by ancient oceans, bounded by the Massanutten, Allegheny and Blue Ridge mountain ranges and nourished by the Shenandoah River. In one story it took hundreds of millions of years to shape this valley. In another, the morning stars came together looking for the loveliest place to meet. They sang with joy as they found this fair valley through which a winding river ran. The stars placed their brightest jewels in the river, and lit the blue mountain tops with their robes of fire calling the place Shenandoah, "daughter of the stars."
— — —
Anne E. Ulvestad is a freelance writer residing in Maryland. She has her masters in earth literacy, and is available for public lectures and group presentations on Spirituality and the Environment. Anne can be reached at {email anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com}anne@ourplaceintheuniverse.com{/email}. © copyright 2006 by Anne E. Ulvestad