Revisiting Lake Katharine

It seems hard to believe.
Just last Sunday we walked in warm temperatures through Lake Katharine’s magnificent landscape, a preserve, unusual and strikingly beautiful.

Through hemlock woods, sleeping quietly beneath oak leaf blankets.

This Sunday, our weatherman is forecasting an “arctic front.”

I’m glad for the many pictures I took away with me, and the reminder they are, that even though the rural farmland surrounding me is vanishing, I live at the edge of beautiful places that will remain.
Places I can visit--for a day, and revisit--in an instant.

Sandstone cliffs surround Lake Katharine's protected habitat. Within the rock, rounded quartz pebbles remain—cemented by time, washed into the sea which covered most of Ohio 300 million years ago.
Now, fallen free as a result of weathering, they dot the trails—bright white, easily seen in the darkened preserve.
Pocks, bumps, swirls—sculpted by the elements, smoothed by the creeks have become toeholds for the smallest lichens,

the towering trees.



Could it be, it will be even more beautiful in spring?

A taste of something wonderful

When I think of “preserves,” I imagine something special. A creation standing apart from others similar—made a treasure by the value of its contents. Usually of small size—and, often a gift.

Lake Katharine State Nature Preserve, is just that.
And, although many would save it for a spring walk, set it aside for a warm, sunny morning to admire the many endangered wildflowers within--or a summer hike, under the shade of the bigleaf magnolias, while little waterfalls cascade through patches of mountain laurel and blueberries from sandstone cliffs.
We ventured into the cool, dark hemlock woods on an ordinary winter day—and treated ourselves to its wonder.
The filtered light, even in winter, creates a special place--a special feeling of calm within these walls.

Undisturbed in time, the verdigris on pine bark, its patina.

Fallen trees, their wood now shades of mahogany, are held--feathery fingers of moss, reaching, weaving.

The old stand with the new--sporophytes standing above the dense, mossy bed, crimson threads in the forest fabric.



Mosses and liverworts, thousands strong, building microhabitats for the smallest lives.




Nurturing the next generation.

Young hemlock standing in mossy bed of fallen tree.

Mosses and liverworts are unidentified. The thousands to choose from discouraged me from attempting it--please feel free to help out!

No ice.

Usually, if we are lucky enough to have thick ice on the pond--thick enough for skating--it will arrive in January. Ice skates tower in boxes on the top shelf of our coat closet. Black skates, white skates, figure skates, hockey skates--we have them all, in all sizes. Perched precariously, waiting for the day we may excitedly lift them down--and walk, wobbly-footed out onto the pond, to skate under Orion's watchful care.

But, this week's balmy weather roared through the house like a bellows--we won't have ice for skating any time soon.

The warmth lets me linger a little more on the trails, and look a bit further than a brisk walk allows.
Without the distraction of leaves and colorful grasses, these under-appreciated lives take center stage.





Bright, rich color.
Texture and delicacy.
Geometry.

Lichens--layers of life, sharing space.

And, even in January, a spider.

I don't believe ice-skating is in the stars.

Have you seen...

Between Acadia Mountain and Flying Mountain the trail dips deep into the woods.
The bright, exposed rock face is replaced by spongy ground


—thick, mosses perforated by sparkling, cool brooks.
And rich color.

A stump, no longer living for itself, now provides life for something smaller. Covered in greens and blues and browns—slowly it returns to the earth.


Dainty, bright orange mushrooms (Hygrophorus reai?) congregate beneath the trees.


The earth’s richness, food for beauty.


Pickerel Frog, Acadia National Park

"Have you seen...." is an effort to discover the unusual beauty in things not usually appreciated for their beauty.