River walk

A brief tour of the farm in winter

A lovely December day

It’s snowing in the Mid-Ohio Valley today, but we've had many warm and sunny days this winter, perfect for hiking the trail that rings the land. This path starts as a driveway, passes through an abandoned cornfield, and descends to the river, which it follows upstream to the property boundary. After circumnavigating the horse paddocks, it climbs the hill and delivers the hiker back to the house from the backside.

Josie investigates an interesting odor.

I like to walk this path at regular intervals to clear fallen branches, yank wintercreeper from tree trunks before it overwhelms them, and keep an eye on things in general. Daily walks are a great way to get to know land and the creatures that call it home. We are now beginning our 25th year on the farm, and I’ve made enormous strides in wildlife identification in those years. I feel confident identifying nearly all trees and shrubs that I encounter, even in winter, plus many plants of the herbaceous layer. While many smaller birds remain anonymous, I regularly see familiar ones now. A walk devoid of red-tailed hawks, Canada geese, and turkey vultures is a rarity this time of year, and wood ducks and great blue herons can often be spotted on the river.

Holly berries on the Savanna

Learning to identify the living organisms that inhabit the land is the most important task of any land steward. Well-intentioned folk can do incredible damage by jumping into projects and imposing a pre-existing plan without taking the time to learn what is already there. For this task, identification apps are helpful, but in my experience often unreliable. Animals, flowers, and plants with very distinct characteristics are usually identified correctly, but many tree leaves are similar to each other and present problems. Books can help, also nature walks with knowledgeable locals if possible. Patience and persistence are key.

Ferns and moss on fallen log

That which is freshly dead is often nearly as important as that which still lives. By removing dead logs, brush piles, or other detritus that might be considered unsightly, you are actually removing life. Fallen logs nurture moss, lichen, fungus, and even ferns. As they decay they release valuable nutrients that nourish the next generation of trees.

In the woods here, pilated woodpeckers work the woods like an Amish construction crew, drilling standing and downed deadwood. They fly busily back and forth, feeding themselves and their offspring while creating homes for smaller birds and mammals. They like to visit my garden and work on the bed borders I’ve made from logs. They hasten their decay and create more work for me, but I love these magnificent birds and their echoing, promordial calls.

Some hidey holes form as wood rots, others are excavated to perfection by woodpeckers.

Before I took up residence here, renters and local yahoos rode four-wheelers along the stretch of river that the path now follows. Over time, this led to soil compaction, eventually causing the land to slump down towards the river. I’ve noticed such slips farther upstream in an area unreachable by ATVs, but the worst spots are clearly where the compaction from traffic caused root die off in plants holding the bank in place. Spice bush, pawpaws, and young sycamores are moving in and will help prevent further slippage.

Though dead, this silver maple provides the essential service of holding the bank in place as young trees grow to replace it.

No forest is a static environment, but this riparian zone is subject to more change than our relatively upland areas. Regular inundation creates constant natural disturbance. Usually floods arrive slowly, as high water events, not the flash flooding that makes the news. Though sometimes water speed is great enough to wash away susceptible debris, soil, or even young trees, more often it leaves something behind. As waters recede, a thick layer of mud is deposited, sometimes smothering existing herbaceous plants and creating rich new ground for seeds to take root.

Unfortunately, this deposition of clay and silt is a double-edged sword because it opens space for unwanted plants as well as desirable ones. Seeds of exotics that happen to be around such as garlic mustard, Japanese stilt grass, and wintercreeper now have an invitation to sprout and take over. Poison ivy, a native plant but a dangerous one, also takes this opportunity to spread. During summer months we stop using much of the path along the river because safely traversing it requires long pants.

A pawpaw seed plus three types of fungus observed near the river

As the trail approaches the property boundary, it turns and follows a line of mature osage orange trees, relics of an earlier time when they formed a living fence. They still serve the purpose of holding soil in place. While trees growing on the riverbank play a crucial role in preventing erosion, all our bottomland trees help prevent sinkholes, which often open up many yards from the river. A large one appeared a few years ago on the neighbor’s land, about 100 yards upstream from the location of the photo below, and required earth-moving machinery to repair. Our sinkholes tend to stay smaller due to more more trees and vegetation in general.

A ditch or a portal to a magical kingdom?

On the final leg of the path, the hiker is treated to an open vista, a former cornfield turned into permanent pasture. In summer, the trees that line the river and the drainage ditch make this spot feel like a secluded bowl, ringed by protective greenery. Road sounds are dampened, and — provided you turn your back to the house — it is possible to feel as if you are entirely alone, somewhere out on a very green range. This effect is unavailable in winter, but on a sunny winter day it’s still pretty wonderful here.

To complete the walk, the hiker ascends the Highway to Heaven, a short, steep path that leads back to the house. I gave it this name not because the dooryard resembles heaven, but as a half-joke, because from the usual starting point it leads downward to the pasture. The longer I live here however, the more apt it seems. The paddocks are indeed heavenly for horses due to plentiful grass and clover, and the bottomlands, full of life even in winter, are paradise to me.

The blue sky of winter

You don’t have to own a large property to benefit from winter walks, nor is it important to identify local plants and animals only in the countryside. Knowing what trees are thriving in difficult urban environments could have critical importance in future restoration work. Are local parks dominated by sterile, exotic plantings, or do native plants still have a place there? Is a winter bird population supported? Taking regular walks and learning what is out there opens up a whole new level of understanding. It might be cold out there, but it’s worth it.