A Day in June

“And what is so rare as a day in June?

Then, if ever, come perfect days”

James Russell Lowell

I remember memorizing this poem by 19th century Romantic poet, James Russell Lowell, in my freshman high school English class for Miss Frye. This morning when I walked out the door for my morning walk to the park, the true essence of the poem caught me … it's taken quite a few years for the impact to hit. Lowell was born here in New England and must have experienced the very same feeling I did this morning in order to capture it the way he did, so very simply, in his writing.

There was a light breeze. The temperature was lovely … warm, but not hot … no sweater needed. Filtered sun in a broken blue sky warmed my back, but didn't burn. Earlier in the season, perhaps it would have been too cool at this time of day or the flowers wouldn't have bloomed yet. Later in the season, the heat and humidity will be oppressive. But this day in June …this day was perfect. I could have walked forever, but I had to keep stopping because every time I visit Bird Park there's always something new and different to see and I hate to miss a thing. Some days I go two or three times. Turtles were out of the pond and laying eggs today. I saw two rather large snappers dragging their heavy, clumsy, not-designed-for-land bodies up a hill and digging holes in the soft dirt to deposit their eggs. Laborious efforts to procreate.

I could hear a woodpecker somewhere nearby. Robins, ravens, sparrows, chicadees and blackbirds all added to the morning chorus. The soft cooing of mourning doves could be heard when the other birds took a break. I walked by some birdhouses away from the main path and barn swallows had taken up residence. They weren't keen on my being too close and swooped down a few times to make their feelings known.

The geese and ducks were preening and planning their day. Some lay along the edge of the pond. Others urged their young ones into the water for a morning swim. The goslings are growing most noticeably. Most have lost their yellow down feathers and have gained significant weight and size in the last week or so. I try to give them plenty of distance, but this morning they were heading right for me and finally just went around me when I didn't move … no hissing involved.

There aren't many ducks around … only one mallard that I've seen. He comes and goes at will. One female has a duckling and another has two. I seldom see them in the same pond although you'd think they'd enjoy each other's company once in awhile. I think the geese have pretty much taken over the area with all their goslings and the ducks seem to be low on the pond hierarchy and keep to themselves.

A pair of herons sit sentry in one of the two ponds every day. This morning only one was around. He stood stock still, watching for breakfast and nabbed a fish in the blink of an eye. The fish was down his gullet and the heron resumed his statue-pose without the slightest hesitation.

Wild multiflora roses are in bloom now. Their fragrance is so sweet as it wafts on the breeze. I catch a whiff of it as I'm walking past and it's hard not to smile. Laurel are beginning to bloom, too. The smells mingle with the freshly cut grass on the manicured lawns. Omnipresent dandelion and hawkweed cover parts of the unmown hill and certain areas have been left to grow tall grasses.

I sat on a cement park bench for a few minutes just to appreciate it all. Carpe diem … especially those “diems” in June.

Apple Picking

It's apple picking time and we couldn't let the season escape without heading to an orchard to pick apples. We usually eat as much as we pick, so it's a good bargain for us. We know of several orchards in the area, but Lin suggested the Nashoba Valley Winery and Orchard. Hmm... apple picking and wine tasting… a stellar combination for a Sunday afternoon and off we went.

The early morning fog burned off by Noon and the sun prevailed for the rest of the day. The orchard was crowded with apple pickers. 'Tis the season. The winery tasting rooms were filled to bursting. Still, we managed to enjoy ourselves. A couple of wine tastings and all was well with the world.

We sampled a Gravenstein dry white wine (pucker up!), an okay chardonnay and a passable pinot gris. The Dry Blueberry and Blueberry Merlot were tolerable, but the St. Croix won the day in the red department. Lin sampled a strawberry rhubarb semi-sweet and the Nashoba Mead. Okay, but not great. The Northern Comfort (their version of cognac) was not quite up to to cognac standards and David drank my Oak-Aged Apple Brandy preferring it to what he ordered. On a whim, I tried the Baerenfang, used 100 years ago by hunters to catch bears. It might have snared the bears, but it certainly didn't do anything for me. We didn't buy any wine to take with us, but we maintained a pleasant glow while apple picking.

Branches were bowed over with the weight of ripe apples. We wondered how some of the branches could support the weight with breaking. McIntosh, Cortland, Mutsu, Golden Delicious and Bramleys were ripe and available for picking. We were obligated, of course, to try one of each before committing to actually picking. At this time of year, standing in this beautiful orchard on a crisp, sunny autumn day, with the smell of apples in the air, sweet and rich, they all tasted good. We picked a half bushel before you could say “McIntosh”

I love apples, but I'm pretty persnickety about which ones I'll eat. I like apples to be hard, crisp and tart. Soft, mealy, sweet … no way. I take a bite out of an apple that's not up to my standards and well … let's just say, David eats a lot of apples he wasn't planning to eat.

We see lots of apple crisp, apple pies, baked apples and just plain old apple eating in our near future, not to mention dark rum and hot cider. It doesn't get much better in the autumn of year.

Moose Hill Street - an iconic New England road

 

When we drive, we prefer to take back roads rather than jumping onto the highway. The highway can be faster, but only by a few minutes and there's no eye candy along the way. This crew always prefers off-the-beaten path, even when we're on land and traditional New England roads ... narrow, winding and tree-lined … definitely fit the bill.

Moose Hill Street is the back road to my sister's house and my Mom now refers to it as “our favorite road” and she's right … it is. The road follows the contour of the land, up and down hills and around sharp corners. Foliage is thick and the trees arch over the road forming a lush green canopy. Stone walls, in various stages of disrepair, covered with poison ivy, line the roadside.

Largely because the Moose Hill Wildlife Sanctuary owns and has protected much of the land on either side of the road, there's been very limited building in the area. The few houses that exist along the road have been there for years and don't seem to have intruded on the road's pleasant nature.

Moose Hill Farm, a lovely old place along the way, is also a protected area since being deeded to the town as part of a nature conservancy and historical preservation area in 2004. It operates in conjunction with the Sanctuary to protect several hundred acres that have been agriculturally active since the 1600's. A culturally significant local landscape, old stone walls, estate trees, the remnants of an orchard and a fine collection of old farm buildings trace an important part of local history.

Reading more, we found that the farm alone supports at least nine functioning vernal pools, three rare plant species including the American chestnut tree as well as five rare wildlife species, mostly salamanders and turtles. We regularly see grazing deer, huge wild turkeys, squirrels, chipmunks and lots of birds, especially bright red cardinals, along this 5-mile stretch. We saw a coyote slinking across the road one dusky evening and several racoons, their eyes caught by the headlights, have peered out at us as we drove by. The wildlife seem to enjoy the road as much as we do.

We wondered how it got its name as there don't seem to be many moose in the area at present. Evidently Jethro Wood, a resident of Sharon in the mid-18th century, killed two moose with one shot on the hill now known as Moose Hill. Impressive shooting, Jethro!

Moose Hill Street is actually cited as a Scenic Road and signed as such. Interestingly enough, the road used to meander for miles until major roads like US 1 and Route 95 cut it into pieces, leaving parts of it isolated from the rest.

Perhaps it's part of our philosophy and way of life developed over the past decade of sailing that makes us enjoy slow and relaxed versus a fast and get there mentality. Though we like arriving, the sights enjoyed while getting there still make each journey more memorable.