- Red Elderberry in Bloom
I never hear about “the woods” anymore. When I was a child here in Oysterville, we went “to the woods” to cut Christmas trees, to pick huckleberries and salmonberries and wild blackberries. It was in the woods that we gathered sphagnum moss and cut alder for firewood and looked for animal trails. It was in the woods that the fairies lived.
These days, of course, there aren’t as many undeveloped areas so the brambly, overgrown places are fewer and farther between. Now there are houses or clearings ready for construction where the woods used to be. Here in Oysterville, many of the forested areas that I remember have been gentrified and manicured. For the most part, the village and its surroundings look neat and tidy and park-like.
One exception is the ‘Y’ at the south end of town. There, for a few hundred yards, the woods still provide a sort of entrance to Oysterville. For me, that little patch of woods is a happy reminder of past years when the town was just a collection of tumble-down, weathered buildings that seemed on the verge of being consumed by the woods or falling into the bay.
Another woodsy place is across from the old Heckes Inn where ‘Uncle John’s’ barn and barnyard once stood. Every once in awhile, the present-day owner makes a foray into the underbrush there in an effort to “clean it up.” He never gets far, but the villagers usually express hope that “this time he’ll get rid of some of that mess.”
I’m of two minds about that. I remember when it was open space and the Heckes horses and cows kept the surrounding fields cropped back. But, also, it comforts to know that Mother Nature doesn’t take very long to reclaim her own. Those woods serve as a reminder that some of the atrocities that that have gone up here and there won’t last forever.
Right now with the red elderberry in bloom, the woods around Oysterville are in all their glory. “Look at me! Look at me!” they seem to say. And I do. With pleasure!
Thank you Sydney, you brought back many wonderful memories of me, my mother, and Aunt Verna, traipsing through the woods next to her property.
Hi Sydney,
I grew up in the woods of northern Wisconsin. My fellow friends and I spent countless hours building forts, making trails to the lake, swinging on branches, climbing trees, throwing knives AND hatchets, shooting our bows and arrows, fishing, watching nature, boating, canoeing, swimming, sleeping overnight in tents and shelters we built, skiing, jumping, running and generally having a wonderful time.
The woods. Ah yes. Knowing nature. Face to face.
Cool,
Mark
How timely, Sydney! Just last Friday I got to go on a nature walk with the biology class where I am a paraeducator. I don’t know about those sophomores, but I had a great time. And then this afternoon NPR did a piece about the silence of nature and how difficult it is to get to any place where you won’t hear man-made noises. Going into the woods is so theaputic. Far too many people are cut off from Mother Nature and would feel better spending more time out-of-doors!
I remember the day Pete’s horse, Tony, bit Glen’s (Heckes) shoulder as he leaned against the fence to that property. Glen let out a colorful string of words!!
Another place I like to remember is across from the P.O. and store. A trail led to “Bill the Greek’s” house, a spot only the boys visited. At one time my mother wrote that those cranberry bogs were the most productive and lucrative in the U.S.
Anne