Sunset on the Black Trail

I find myself with very little time to write new blog posts, so I'll be sharing more essays from my e-portfolio that I kept while at Conserve School.  I'll share them in chronological order.  There are some occasional issues with formatting since I'm transporting them from one site to another!


Sunset on the Black Trail

 It was a beautiful sunset. No, it was much more than that--it was just past five o' clock on a clear winter evening, standing on the Black Trail looking West across a vast, wild landscape. The sinking sun cast its brilliant orange-gold rays across the snow.  The bog's stunted trees threw their shadows far to the East. There was not a sound to be heard--nature stood in silent reverence towards a Western horizon beset by a magical display of exquisite, fiery beauty.  Where we stood, the sun shone low through the needles of two young White Pines. We were entranced by the light, its soft quality reflecting that of the trees' delicate yet perseverant needles.

This evening on the Black Trail represented one of the countless times I had ventured outside during my first three weeks at Lowenwood.  From skiing down the "hill of death" to snowshoeing the bog to birding Little Donahue Lake at six-thirty in the morning, I had been having an immensely fun time.

  

    I had experienced the deep snow and biting cold of a North Woods winter and the satisfaction of seeing much of Lowenwood's boreal wildlife.  But nothing could transcend this experience; not even watching the Northern Lights atop the sledding hill four nights before.  For the first time, I felt as deeply a part of the landscape as the bog's stunted spruce and the forest's towering White Pines. For the first time I felt a deep connection and appreciation for this place, "this gift from James R. Lowenstine."

    The shadows thrown across the snow, the sun blazing through the white pines and cedars on one side of the trail, casting a golden light on the spruces and birches on the other.  The utterly calm, windless expanse of snow, the stunted trees, the bog.  The hare and coyote tracks in the otherwise untouched snow. These all made this experience stand out for me.  Most memorable of all, though, was the connection I had gained to the landscape and the environment here at Lowenwood, and then realizing that it would be here, at this magnificent place, that I will be spending another thirteen weeks.

    Eventually, reluctantly, we had to tear ourselves away from the magical scene.  I knew I would be back the next night.