At 8 o’clock on Friday morning I am tucked into an armchair at the Mellow Moose cafe on Route 3, thankful that the sun is just high enough so that its rays don’t pierce through the window into my eyes. I curl into an armchair with an egg sandwich and a latte to enjoy my book, pleased to spend my free morning trying a new cafe. My grand plan for the day doesn’t extend much past this. After a couple of hours, latte reduced to a tiny fluff of foam and egg sandwich to crumbs, I feel antsy.
I drive back towards Meredith with no compelling idea of what to do. I consider a stop at Hannaford to grab some groceries, but that thought seems an affront to the sunshine. Should I park and walk along the Lake Winnipesaukee shoreline? But then I remember a place that has been on my list of “places to go” for all four months that I’ve been here. I continue on Route 3 and turn onto 25-B. I pull over into a cleared space on the shoulder of the road only recognizable as a parking area if you know to look for it. The huge pile of plow-molded snow almost completely hides the trail kiosk that is the only indication of any roadside attraction: Belknap Woods.
I grab my binoculars and walk. I immediately hear the comforting bickering of chickadees in the hemlocks. I always like to imagine that their talk is gentle chiding among friends. I stand and listen to ice lose its grip on tree branches in the face of unrelenting sunshine and fall through the understory, shattering with a satisfying spray of sound. I run my fingers over the lenticels of beech trees- small horizontal lines on the bark that are actually openings to allow for gas exchange between the atmosphere and the trees’ tissues. I search for a woodpecker through my binoculars, guided by the sounds of its quest for a mid-morning snack. I listen to curled yellow beech leaves rattle in the wind, the stoic last hangers-on becoming the most pleasant natural wind chimes.
I walk up and over a rise and on the right side of the trail is a large boulder. Its face is covered in a multicolored tapestry of lichens and mosses. A few inches of snow cover it, but fingers of curled green ferns have escaped to stretch over the edge of the rock like living bangs. I step closer to trace the interlocking pieces of quartz, feldspar, and flecks of mica in this ancient igneous behemoth. I put my hand flat against the chilly stone, trying to visualize its travels to this place. This boulder is a glacial erratic; a rock transported by the unfathomable force of a glacier crawling across the landscape during the Pleistocene about 15,000 years ago. How far was it carried during the Laurentide Ice Sheet’s southeast-bound trek? What did it feel like to be plucked from the ground by a mass of snow and ice a mile thick marching across New England? How lucky am I that I can experience this moment of awe while my decision to come to Belknap is not yet an hour old?
My daily exposure to nature growing up was, for lack of a better word, “small.” I did not hike vast, deserted peaks with views free of manmade blemishes. I played in the few acres of woods nestled in my suburban neighborhood in Virginia, picking up rocks to look for salamanders in a spot that was never quite free of the sound of cars. I explored a small marina right off the George Washington Parkway on the Potomac River over and over again to find good driftwood and long pieces of seagrass. My mom and I lay on our stomachs on the boardwalks at Huntley Meadows, a tiny wetland nature facility located behind a Denny’s and an apartment complex on one of the biggest highways in my hometown, looking for signs of turtles and frogs. I saw and learned and cherished so much while exploring these places.
My family and I fit trips to spots like these into any cracks of time we could find- half an hour here, an hour there. Experiencing a moment of awe based on your own exploration near home is magic of a different color than following the crowds up to Delicate Arch in Utah. Both are important, but for some reason it seems like people often focus on the latter. Exploring the outdoors on your own time allows you to build your own relationship with the ecosystem around you.
I am constantly reminded how important it is to protect and provide access to “backyard” nature in the world of conservation. I can only hope that the work I do in the future helps at least one person to connect with a boulder in a random hour on their day off.
Grace is a full-year member who enjoys reading a good book, down hill skiing, and making community wherever she goes. You can read more about Grace here!