Mahala Street: Into the Green Woods

There was a red flag warning for the day, for fire danger. It has been very dry in central Pennsylvania, the driest spring I can remember, in fact, and it was to turn breezy, increasing the risk for wildfires. There have been all kinds of warnings about not burning things outdoors. Rain is occasionally promised, but it never materializes where I am.

But it was nice out: lovely and cool and breezy in the morning, and so I decided it was time to hike Mahala Street. My husband was taking one of his cars out for a spin, and he dropped me off on the other end of town. I walked Mahala Street up the hill a ways and then turned right and went into the Scotia Barrens, and from there, I walked back home, a distance of a couple of miles.

The picture above shows Mahala Street, and you will see instantly what a laugher it is to call this a STREET at all. It is gravel for just a little ways at the beginning, and then it is dirt all the rest of the way up, lined by green woods on both sides. There's a parking lot and a gate not far in; you have to walk the rest of the way.

I was wearing my Garmont Santiago, a shoe I call "the three-miler." I had to glue it a week or two ago after realizing I had somehow punctured the bottom of the right shoe. It left me with a wet foot on a recent hike, which puzzled me. The boot is only a little over two years old, so the wound is upsetting, but I glued it with Shoe Goo; let's hope it's good as new.

The news from the Barrens is this: all of the puddles on the far end are dry, the vernal ponds are dropping quickly, the bumblebees are feasting on dame's rocket, the mountain laurel is popping, there are ferns aplenty, there are a few blue butterflies (but not a lot of them), and I saw a dragonfly or two.

The lady's slipper orchids are in their latter phase. About a month ago, they all turned pink; as I like to say, they put on their pretty pink ball gowns, and some of the fancier ones look almost like saloon girls. These days, the flowers are turning brown and going to seed, and they are starting to resemble Ma Ingalls (from Little House on the Prairie) more than ballroom queens.

I was hoping to see some snakes, but I was not lucky enough to spot one. Honestly, I've seldom seen snakes in the Barrens, and never rattlers. We saw a huge black snake there once; occasionally, a garter. Nothing more scary than that. But still, I watch my feet and stay alert.

I was thinking, as I walked, about how at home I feel in these woods. Bonnie Raitt's song came on the tunes box, and I was vibin' with it, thinking yes, these woods are home to me. Here is Ms. Raitt, with a personal favorite, Feels Like Home.

P.S. I must note the passing of pianist George Winston on this day. His music has always served as a beautiful, soothing, safe space for me. I can remember the first time I heard the album December. My college roommate Holly and her mom had gone to see George Winston, I think, and Holly came back to school with the album around Christmas of 1982. It's been a favorite ever since then, and I pull it out when I need to apply it, like a balm, to my fretting soul. And when we get our first snow or two of the year, I absolutely MUST whip out the CD, and I listen to Variations on the Kanon and go walking in the snow; when those first four chords hit, I can feel my blood pressure drop, and my heart is at peace. Thank you, George Winston; thank you. And so, as a bonus, I add a link to George Winston's December. Go well, sir. Thank you for the wonderful piano music. The whole album feels like a prayer. And so onto all of that, I add my own . . . amen.