The Old Field Tree

Today I discovered a park and reservoir where wild irises thrive and northern leopard frogs swim amongst them. A common loon calls out from the middle of the reservoir and haunts the whole scene as the clouds roll in. A man swims the length of the lake, and people fish along the edge. Wild yarrow grows, and a tiger swallowtail waits on a tree. Baby chipmunks are scurrying about in every which direction, learning the terrain or learning their fate.

There were three primitive and peaceful campsites, each with a platform for a tent and well built bonfire areas. I’ll have to go camping there and report back.

I stepped into the water nearby a shallow cove on our walk around the reservoir. It looked rather swimmable as there was mostly gravel. The water, to my surprise, was warm for Vermont, but it has been very humid here. I waded around and took in the rare occasion where I felt completely safe to swim in an ecosystem so native and pure in the US. The last place I discovered a really robust ecological swimming hole was in Costa Rica.

As I was wading in the water, I saw crayfish darting about. I stepped out to dry off, and a little curious songbird kept hopping back and forth nearby. In the distance, a rather large turtle was sulking in the water close to where I was. I wonder how long he’d been there.

It was then, just before we were going to take off, that a lone loon landed in the center of the lake. He was quiet for a moment, preening some feathers. And then the call came, like a haunting ancient whistle. The land fell silent, and the only noise for a brief moment was the song of the loon.

History I hadn’t learned suddenly filled the atmosphere in the form of sound waves. Like the moon, I knew when I heard his call that the loon has been here long before me.