Arboretum Diary

"I've just crossed a sunburnt plain and here they are. They welcome me, warily. It's a family, the elders in the middle, surrounded by the youngsters whose first leaves have just been born..." – Renard, from "A Family of Trees"







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A strange and complex family it is, the linked prairies and woods of the Arboretum.  From the small parking lot off Curtis Prairie on Arboretum Drive, you can see the stitches of the various woodlands from this one spot: Noe Woods, an old farm that has turned to a woodland cover tall pines, cherry and much basswood and the like; Curtis, the one hundred and twenty five year old oaks still lined in places by the setting of an old farm fence; and off in the distance the Gallistel Woods, a thicker, denser combination of all of the above that often needs clearing to allow for sunlight on the canopy.  As the sun is out, something like a surprise, the new waves of songbirds seem to call out from the outskirts of each of the transition zones, from pine to savannah, back into the thick underbrush.  Was it the Downy Woodpecker this time tinkering with the hollow wood? Without binoculars, it is a fool's attempt to located each of the sounds as the birds, many of them shy, duck behind the stump or steep in brush.  As if on cue, the pond animates, despite its unhealthy storm water run-off content.

Up along the prairie trails the skeletons of the sumac stand ready and the dropseed waving at the wind.  All along the boardwalks the red wings perch and stand their ground as if guarding against the wind itself and its drawn chortle rules the marshes like a tyrant's song, there only as a reminder

to the casual visitor that they will be here long past your exit.