It feels great to be out in the fresh air journaling on our forty by the wolf tree, as my hubby dubs it. Unfortunately it sits in the middle of deer tick haven, but I've got my trusty little bottle refilled with sweet smelling wintergreen rubbing alcohol ready to give ticks a bath, like the one I just found on my jeans. It's against the law to "flick a tick" at our place, all ticks go into a bottle like this that we carry with us in a pocket whenever we're outdoors. Our wolf tree is a big old maple. It has the prettiest red leaves in autumn that stand out among the other trees across the pond, sometimes reflecting itself beautifully in the water. This tree is full of branches that spread out and shade everything around it. The branches make it less desirable for lumber, but that's o.k. with me.
A little sunshine now and then and patches of blue sky are perking me up, but the west wind feels cold with a temperature of about 40 degrees. A lone mallard duck quacks overhead as it flies above me toward Tom's Creek.
A bone from an old deer carcass dangles from a small white pine tree along the trail near me, a plaything for a squirrel most likely.
I'm surrounded here at the base of the wolf tree by many red pine trees that my husband planted about 20 years ago. Most have a diameter at the base of 4 to 6 inches, some still sporting a ring of fencing around them to keep the bucks from polishing their antlers and killing the trees. Most of these red pines are 20 to 30 feet tall now and it won't be long until they can start whispering. That makes me happy.
So happy you can lose yourself in the woods, a great place to be on any day.
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