Covid Journal, Day 42: A Walk on the Wild Side

53 and a light fog this AM. The old folklore says if it's foggy in the morning there'l be no rain that day, but it certainly has looked threatening all day, with a few rumbles of thunder here and there.

I remember when this tree was just a tiny thing. I believe the forester told us it was a short-needle pine, and not too common in this area.

Usually when we go walking we stick to roads and trails, but I have had it in mind to find the spring we used for water for 15 years. That may not sound too difficult--I knew where it was, after all.

But what a difference a few years make.

First off, the spring is about 1/3 of a mile from our house. Because when we bought this place we were so naive and knew so little about the land in this region that we thought we could drill a well 50-100 feet deep and have water. Where we lived in Virginia that was true, and a 100-foot well was considered a deep well. When we had a well drilled 263 feet and hit only a trickle we realized that one place is not like the other. We'd already framed up our house, so we couldn't change locations easily at that point. In our defense, we were only 23 and 24 years old, both town-raised, so what did we know? It would have been wise of course to have done some research but it wasn't that easy in the 70's pre-internet days. And we didn't know anyone here to ask.

Wild blue phlox found a home in a sheltered nook.

But a neighbor told us about the spring on our property, so we investigated. I was dubious at first because really it just looked like a mudhole. But our neighbor assured us it had never gone dry in all his 50 years of life, so we set about figuring out a system to make it work for us.

A dogwood provides a pretty tutu for a persimmon tree.

The next problem was that we also did not check on how to get electricity to this land. As it turned out, it would be very expensive as new line had to be run for over a mile. So we opted to do without it. The spring turned out to be on the same level as the house, so we could not have gravity-flow water. What to do?

Another friend recommended a heavy equipment operator who had put in a system for him. This man suggested that we put in two tanks: one into which the spring would gravity-feed, and which would have a submersible pump in it. The other tank would be above the house. Once a week we could start up a gasoline generator and pump water from one 1200 gallon tank to the other, and the water would gravity feed from there to the house.

You can barely see our house over there, on the other side of a steep ravine that divides this part of our land.

That's what we did, and for 15 years we struggled with a whole variety of problems that would make a book if I wrote about all of them: a third of a mile or more of pipe that ran through some rugged land, freezing, air locks, losing prime, generator issues, dry summers, etc, etc. But the spring never went dry although it often shifted location slightly so that we'd have to go dig it out and get it situated properly again. When we finally did get electricity, we also drilled a well--a 783 foot hole in the ground that cost more than a new vehicle at the time. But hallelujah, plenty of water.

So we stopped using the spring, and only rarely walked over to where it was. I wondered, was it still running? Was the catch basin we built still there? Yesterday we walked over to see.

It was amazing. The land has changed so much! I mean, I look right towards it from the house every day, but did not realize how much change had taken place. For one thing, there was a major slip along the way to the spring that is probably still moving. Tall trees have grown up in the slip area, but the ground is all hooved up and uneven with many little springs running over and underground.

Larry is not the best walking companion, bless him. He tends to forge on ahead without looking back, so I'm on my own. You can see in this photo the dense brush we would have to push through next.

Maybe I should explain what a "slip" is. In some places they're called landslides or mudslides. Generally they occur where a spring is under the ground, keeping the layers of soil wet. When  there is a period of heavy rain, the soil gets so saturated and heavy that it literally shears off and slides downhill, taking trees, rocks, roads, houses or whatever else is in its path with it.  We knew when we bought this land that that side of our property was prone to slips, so we did not consider building on that side of our holler (valley).

And off he goes! 

Obstacle course of vines, water, mud, and thorns.

The first part of our walk was easy. Larry keeps the more level area brush-hogged and clear, and it's beautifully green right now. But as soon as we got into the forested, grown-up part, it was like a different world. Fallen trees, wet, wet ground, humps and bumps, rocks, vines, and the horrible invasive Russian Olive made every step a challenge. I remembered when the area was mostly clear, and there was an ancient Maiden's Blush apple tree out there. Now I could not even tell you where the tree was. It used to be that our land kind of stair-stepped down to our little creek--there was the meadow on top of the ridge, then a slope, another fairly level (for here, anyway!) area, another steep slope, then the field we call the "flat" although it certainly isn't flat, then another steep cliff, then the "lower flat", and finally the bank leading down to the creek.

But in this wild, overgrown, slippy part of our land, it was impossible to see the original lay of the land. After fighting our way through for a good distance, I had to give up. It was getting even rougher and I was worried about losing my footing and really hurting my bad knee. Larry went on for the last 100-200 feet, and he found the spring. I so wanted to go over there, but it was just not a good idea. He said the catch basin is still intact, and there were at least three strong streams coming from the spring.

A honeysuckle has taken over a small tree, and made itself into a tree.

Damage from the emerald ash borer has killed this tree, below.

I followed deer paths to find my way back, as Larry stayed at the spring to check things out. Clyde the cat came with me, talking the whole way because he apparently did not think I should have left Larry back there. The whole walk took an hour and a half of scrambling over trees, rocks, up and down steep banks, and splashing through wet places. It was less than a mile, but I got a lot more of a workout than I bargained for.

A wild strawberry seems comfortable in its home in rotting leaves and branches.

We have discussed trying to make the spring useful again for drinking water, as its taste was incomparable, bright and crisp and so unlike our well water. If we do attempt this project, it's going to take some serious work to develop even a reasonable walking path. Would it be worth the trouble? We're still thinking about it. The memory of that water has stayed with me, and I long to taste it again. So we shall see.

There, and back again. It was delightful to get back to clear land!

I am glad I walked out there, anyway. It was a strong reminder of the power of nature, and of how nothing stays the same forever. The land is ever-changing, especially in wild, untended places. Trees fall, new tree species grow and overcome what was there before, invasive plants come and are finally overshadowed by taller growth, springs and creeks shift and change direction or even run underground for a distance. So many things can and do happen. The only constant is change.


Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.