own Backyard

EXPLORING NATURE IN YOUR OWN BACKYARD

Time is precious and with self‑quarantine imposed on everyone in the County, I suddenly had reason to go outside every single day to work, run or walk. An impetus to reorient in the constancy of the natural world. I love being outdoors in western Sullivan County, except in mid‑winter my natural habitat is usually cozy near the woodstove and working on cerebral projects. Lost in thought some days I even forget to look out a window. That was before the world shifted so suddenly and dramatically.

I made a game of going outside by remembering a scene from the 1995 film Smoke. Harvey Keitel plays a Brooklyn cigar shop owner. Every day “rain or shine, sleet or snow” at 8:00 o’clock in the morning he fastens his 35 mm to a tripod outside his shop and snaps

The following photos were taken at Jensen’s Ledges.

the same photo, the corner of Third Street and Seventh Avenue. Same shot yet each of 4,000 images is also different.

What would happen if -- for five days at 1:00 p.m. ‑‑ I step out our back door to walk the same loop across our backyard, up the hill past the gardens, into the woods, toward the mountain stream, then circle back home wide through the forest?

DAY ONE

Bright sun, gentle wind. In a light‑ weight down jacket, I vault with one hand on the stone wall up into the backyard and head up to the flowerbed. No pops of bright color. The bed’s railroad‑tie border, stiff grass underfoot, the bark of every tree swaying ahead at the edge of the woods...all of it is a palette of brown and gray. These are the hues of dormancy and suspension except on the flank of deer that frolic and feed in the evening.

* * * Up the hill and across the driveway is the fenced‑in vegetable garden. A jungle of weeds, dry and dead now, overcame the beds last August when we opted to frequent the Callicoon Farmers’ Market instead of growing our own vegetables. The sight floods me with child‑ hood memories of our Memorial Day planting ritual. My father with spade and mother with hoe dig trenches. My sister and I on our knees sow and fertilize seeds that transform into tomatoes and cukes, carrots and beets and always too‑many zucchini. The bounty we transform again into salads, relish and pickles for the pantry. October brings the bookend ritual. Frost will come in the night warns my mother. My sister and I yank withered vines out of the soil and shuttle bushel baskets of squash and pumpkins to the back basement. In the toasty kitchen, Mom makes us Breakfast for Dinner! ‑‑ fried eggs and chocolate chip pancakes.

* * * Scaling a gentle slope up the hill toward the woods, light exertion, and brisk clean air expand lungs and mind. Crisp brown leaves and sun‑bleached grass cuttings camou‑ flage loamy ground. Earth beneath my boots gives way. The sensation of sinking and slipping in mud is familiar. Joyful feet proclaim Spring is here!

DAY TWO

Beneath an ash‑gray sky, I reach the grassy plateau near the top of the hill just before the loop turns into woods. An uprooted tree, thick‑trunked and as tall as two telephone poles, rests precariously on two other trees bent on a sharp angle under the weight. A ‘widowmaker’ I’ve been told this kind of woodland hazard is called. Ice, wind or both must have downed the tree. The rootball is on the neighbor’s side of the property line while the stressed trees curl and create a half canopy over our property line. Their inevitable fall raises questions of property own‑ ership. Risks and responsibilities. Cleanup costs. Who, in the end, gets the firewood. My stomach knots. If a tree falls in the woods and neither I nor our friendly neighbor notice, can’t the whole situation just be ignored?

Just ahead the loop follows a mown path that narrows into deep woods. A spacious grove of bare trees makes me nostalgic for a time thousands of years ago. I imagine hunters and gatherers draped in fur and carrying bows and knives prowling among these trees. The hunt for bear or deer means everyone ‑‑ or no one ‑‑ will feast. Before agrarian society ushered in the idea of ‘ownership’ ‑‑ as a means of maintaining privilege and power ‑‑ humans had little or no framework for borders or belong‑

ings. We abided the seasons. Relied on each other. Shared. This primal longing within me…did I live such life thousands of years ago? Or is this yearning an echo of harvesting squash before the first frost then sitting down with my people for chocolate chip pancakes?

DAY THREE

Steel gray sky sprinkles reluctant snowflakes in the woods. The narrow ravine where water spills off the mountain year‑round except during drought is the feature along the loop to morph the most day to day. A skim of ice encases rocks and leaves at the edge when yesterday this brook flowed freely. The stream cuts east then west then east again through woods about three hundred yards. Finally, it rushes through a culvert pipe that runs under 17B just outside of Callicoon and feeds a swimming hole (on private land). On a dare, high school friends and I would duck our heads and squat down in a wide‑legged stance, feet tromping awkwardly on the curved steel so as to not get wet. It was terrifying.

DAY FOUR

Flat light again, the coldest day so far even before the wind picks up. I make a beeline up the hill into the woods to the ravine where ice has formed over part of a knee‑high waterfall that feeds the mountain brook. I’m glad for my wool hat and the fuzzy glove I wear on my left hand so I can make notes with the bare hand. Three minutes outdoors and the crisp air has me feeling more alive than I have all day. Deep in the woods and out of earshot of the crackling stream, are clustered piles of downed trees from a logging project five years ago. I sensed at the time that the job could have gone better. I’m no expert but there seemed to be an unnecessary surplus of casualties, lumber that could be neither milled nor burned as firewood. “These trees and the brush will make great habitats!” I was told scanning the wreckage. Fair point yet I also felt like I was being fed a line. The left‑behind logs have softened and collapsed on each other. I picture delighted rabbits and raccoons bopping through tunnels and crevices and relax at the idea that maybe critter condominiums was an ok outcome after all.

DAY FIVE

Sun peaks out from behind clouds as I follow a deer pass between dense forest to the farthest point from the house. There I encoun‑ ter an in‑tact stone wall, a marker from yesteryear used to delineate property lines and also boundaries for gardens and pastures within a property. According to Sullivan County Historian John Conway, many of the stone walls seen in forests were originally built in clear fields; forest grew back up around them once farmers moved on or quit cultivating the land. Since the earliest settlers needed to farm for sustenance some of the stone walls in the county date back to the 1750s and ‘60s. Most of them, like one my father helped his father build on land he grew up on, are more likely early 19th century.

* * * The loop is familiar now. I’m sure enough of my footing to look up. To literally change one’s perspec‑ tive is to make the familiar brand new again. This trick I usually deploy in a city setting so as not to miss out on architecture. Being mindful, of course, at each cross‑ walk.

On many a hike, I’m the one who falls behind to photograph or fixate on a crazy orange mushroom or ephemeral wildflower. Traversing this loop, it’s the ‘big picture’ that captures my attention.

Feet delight at the snap of a twig underfoot and the cushy give of a blanket of composting leaves. Through waist‑high briars and brush piles, my steps stay confi‑ dent. I scramble over downed trees and run my hands over cushy moss that blankets boulders my sister and I played on as kids. One colossal stone I recognize as the setting of my first kiss, the French kind. We plotted the moment for weeks.

As I pop out of the woods under the willow tree and back into our yard, I realize I’m humming. Something triumphant. Aaron Copland? Or maybe a tune from Ken Burns’ Civil War.

In just five days I’ve rediscovered that nature waits patiently for me to turn away from glowing screens and come out to play. The constant companion humbles and reminds me. It inspires imagination and adventure. As the cigar shop corner in Smoke puts it, “It’s my corner. Just one little part of the world...but things take place here too just like everywhere else.”

Whether you’re a first-time visitor or you’ve got deep roots and woods of your own exploring our area’s pristine outdoors is a must‑do. Even better invite a friend and go for the triple‑win: nature, exercise, and social connection ‑‑ three in‑ gredients for long and healthy life.

Backroads and backyards are great to explore ‑ Live here or staying at an Airbnb? Look out your window and wander outside to whatever direction calls to you. Simple.

Here are a few favorites to get you started.

Callicoon | River Road ‑ Great for biking, walking and running, this lightly-trafficked flat stretch hugs the Delaware and features non‑stop river views. From Main Street in Callicoon either cross the bridge into Pennsylvania and hang a left or stay in New York and tool past the U.S. Post Office. Visiting and want to tube or canoe down the Delaware River? Stop by Lander’s in Callicoon. Or if races are your thing, the annual River Run benefitting the Delaware Valley Youth Center. The 24th Annual Run is slated for Sunday, July 18, 2021. www.delawareyouthcenter.org/ the‑river‑run/

Jeffersonville | 5K Sap Run Route ‑ For moderate elevation gain take the scenic route just behind the main drag in Jeffersonville which doubles as a USATF Certified course for the 5K Sap Run. This event is held annually in April. From Willy Avenue near the Jeff Bank, follow Hubert Road to merge onto Swiss Hill Road. Lakeview Avenue takes you around placid Lake Jeff and back to the village’s own “Back‑ yard Park.” www.jeffersonvilleny.com/5ksaprun/

Narrowsburg | Tusten Mountain Trail ‑ Rough in spots with river views and some elevation gain, this trail is maintained by the National Park Service and owned by Ten Mile River Boy Scout Camp. Stroll five abreast along the Jeep trail beneath towering pines or veer off onto a single‑track path and meander the woods. On your way back to the parking area on Tusten Road, leave time for a tranquil time‑out: loll on the stone bridge over the rushing tributary that flows into the river ahead in the distance. www.trailkeeper. org/trail/tusten‑mountain‑trail/ For more options and maps in this area visit: www.tenmileriver.org/hike/

Lordville | Jensen’s Ledges ‑ Get lungs and legs pumping on this 2.1‑mile out‑and‑back climb to arguably the most spectacular view of the Delaware River near Sullivan County. (Lordville, in Delaware County, is about ten miles upriver and up Route 97 from Long Eddy.) At the summit lookout for the stone “throne” and intriguing cairns. This place which was once a buzzing stone quarry is also a habitat for timber rattlesnakes that love to sun themselves on the rocks. Keep your ears and eyes open, and steer clear of cracks and crevices. www.trailkeeper.org/trail/jen‑ sen‑ledges/

For more information on area hiking, visit trailkeeper.org DO YOU REMEMBER...

The Jeffersonville Lion’s Field dedication on Sunday, June 25, 1950 with 500 attending. Mayor Frederick W.V. Schadt acted as master of ceremonies. Just before the baseball game started between Jeff Lion’s and Walton, three planes circled the field dropping baseballs to initiate the game. Jeff Lion’s lost 5-4 and one spectator lost the windshield of his car by a foul ball. Before the school overlooking the village was built in 1938, the school was located at the Lion’s Field. The teacher in this photo is Hazel Miller Myers. Photo courtesy of Leslie Loeffel