February 14, 2024
Happy Valentine’s Day!
This morning, after a hot cappuccino and some writing, I walked into the pine grove to watch the sunrise. There is an empty crop field east of our property, with a large forested area beyond. Our first year here, the crop field was used to grow tobacco, a staple crop for North Carolina, both historically and contemporarily. Last year, the family who farmed a great deal of tobacco in the area closed their business, selling off their farming equipment. Last year, the field was used to grow soybeans which attracted many deer.
Someone probably planted the pine grove on our property fifty to sixty years ago. People often planted pine groves on cleared farmlands to either restore part of the forestry or to harvest wood once the trees matured. Pine needles, which drop in plentitude, were also a hot commodity for their excellent mulching qualities. This grove remained untouched for decades, allowing several species of trees to grow among the perfect grid of pines. The area was woodsy, but looked different from the natural woodlands behind the house. In our first year here, we cleared one row of small trees and brush to create a walking path through the grove. It is always enthralling looking or walking down this lane.
When the sun rises over the tree line on the eastern horizon, it hits the pine grove, little by little. The light starts at the south end of the grove, and as the sun rises, the illumination travels north until the whole grove is lit. The light in the morning is soft and, often, an intense gold color. At the start of each day, the pines cut through the sun’s light, creating hundreds of golden beams that shoot through the grove. It’s a sight to behold, and it happens daily.
After watching the spectacle, I made my way to the north end of the property to sit on a large boulder. I previously called it Beaver Teeth Rock, but, yesterday, I decided Beaver Tooth Rock sounded more like an official site. It could be argued that the rock itself looks like a beaver’s tooth, although the name came from finding the small mammal’s actual teeth atop the rock, pooped out by a coyote.
The cold air was still. With each breath, a lingering vapor shot out of my mouth. On my third exhalation, I could still see my first breath hovering. I heard the creek trickling at a bend and birds were waking, singing their morning songs. In the stream, which flows west to east, I thought part of the water was moving in the opposite direction, but when I examined the area through the telephoto lens of my camera, I saw there was a large swirl created by the current, giving the illusion of backward moving water.
Still focused on the flowing creek, my eyes caught a sudden bulge in the water level about fifteen feet west. Watching intently, I was rewarded by the sight of a beaver’s head poking through the water. My eyes followed the small animal as it drifted with the current, capturing a few photographs to show my wife. I had spent many hours sitting on this rock, always waiting to see wildlife. The subtlety of the beaver’s presence surprised me. There was no noise, and if I hadn’t stared into the creek, I would have never seen the animal.
I stayed on the large boulder a little longer, staring at the rock beneath my feet. Patches of green mosses, so bright that they looked fluorescent, covered the rock’s surface. On the north side of the boulder, the side closest to the sun, several dozen small ferns grew, somehow finding life on a stoney surface while suspended over the rock’s edge. Teeth from various animals, including the beaver’s teeth for which I named this rock, still lay underneath me. Yesterday, while sitting here, I thought about my practice of going out to what I dubbed “last light”. This morning, I wondered if “first light” was also a practice.
Last light sticks out because it is the end of the workday and just a few hours before my bedtime. I hadn’t noticed, however, that I am always up before the sun, and usually outside before it rises, often before twilight. Perhaps photography naturally drew me to these times. The “golden hour” and “blue hour” are times where the lighting is best for dramatic photos. I can confirm that any scene in nature looks more interesting at the start and end of each day. When the earth spins, pointing my location’s horizon toward the sun, magical things happen. For about twenty minutes in the morning and thirty minutes in the evening, nature transforms from natural beauty to otherworldly. I suppose I have developed an attraction to seeing these shows.
Many people work in harmony with the sun’s light. We start work in the morning and finish before day’s end. Before electricity was invented, most people scheduled their work during daylight and rested when it was dark. I wondered if sunrises and sunsets were a part of a human’s natural Circadian rhythm. These brief moments, in the course of a twenty-four-hour day, seem prominent in my daily life.
On the way to the creek, I checked the deer corn I recently laid out. There were small divots in the piles, evidence deer visited the area. On my way back home, I noticed the piles had changed; one was almost completely gone. I had not seen deer in a couple of days, but the elusive creatures were near, feeding while I was at the creek. I walked home, made another cup of coffee, and got ready for work. It was going to be a beautiful, sunny day.
I finished work late, but I still went into the woods. With my iPad and card reader in hand, I rushed through the darkening forest to two different trail cameras on the north end of the property. I hurried because night was falling. The first camera caught several videos of raccoons at night and squirrels during the day. A small herd of deer also passed through the area. Most notable, a blue heron walked past the camera several days this week. The enormous bird is very shy and I’ve never been able to photograph it with my camera. There was also a large bobcat jumping the creek. I enjoy having bobcats in the area. They are incredibly athletic and have an air about them. I mean, they’re cats, right?
The second trail camera pointed toward Beaver Tooth Rock, the very place I sat this morning. It captured a pair of coyotes lounging on the rock at night. Apparently, the boulder is a popular place to sit for several animal species. I downloaded the videos, replaced the SD card in the camera and took off, literally running, home. It was very dark, and I knew if I didn’t hurry, then I was going to be stepping in holes and eating trees on the way back. When I was almost home, a coworker called me about a minor emergency. He was in Texas, out walking too. We laughed because we were both out of breath while trying to have a serious phone conversation. We resolved the problem and bid each other farewell.
When I got home, I cut some kindling and started a fire while talking to my wife on the phone, telling her about the beaver, recounting the day’s adventures. The temperature dropped quickly, and the stars were out. The Big Dipper looked faint, and Venus had moved closer toward the moon. What a beautiful night.