For the first time this season I get the opportunity to observe the woods in a later time frame, arriving in the afternoon and not leaving until sunset. The chance came when some after class plans on Monday had been canceled so once I got home around 2:30; I changed into my gear and headed out.
As I settle into the stand I cannot get one thing out of my mind that carried over from class discussion. We are covering a book Days of Destruction Days of Revolt, by Chris Hedges and Joe Sacco, which is a firsthand observatory piece where the authors visit “sacrifice zones” around the country to see what exactly has happened to cause these areas of decline and what they are currently going through.
One such area that struck close to me was a chapter on the expired West Virginia mining towns. I don’t personally have any experience working directly in a mine shaft but I do have experience working in the second leg of the coal process. Working in the summer and winters as an industrial painter for my dad, I have been inside fly ash silos and coal shoot buildings in coal fired plants. I have seen how dirty the stuff can be and how just after one days of work, everything you brought into that area is now black. I have also seen the gruesome images of what it looks like for someone to be trapped inside a coal shoot and have their body cavity filled with coal as it piles over and suffocates them. There was one section in particular in the chapter that struck on a more personal level. Being from and still having family that live in the central Pennsylvania mountains, there are only two ways to make a living there: work at the local Leyos Supermarket, or in the mine shaft.
Every year we go up for the family reunion and each year my grandfather shows me Baughman Ave. which runs across Baughman Mountain and eventually leads into Baughman Cemetery. The overwhelming pride and history lessons that come from these visits are invaluable. It is something that I one day wish to be able to show the next generation of the family that came before them. In a similar geographical region in West Virginia, a witness in the book describes the demolition of family cemetery similar to the one I visit. I know just like the witness in the book, if anything threatened the existence of our cemetery I would fight with everything in my power to preserve it.
A red fox zigzagging through the soybean field brings me out of my day dream. If you have never seen a fox or coyote scamper through the woods, it is interesting, they never run in a straight line, instead they constantly dart left to right every four to five yards. Just as this fox did until he eventually reached a fallen long that he balanced onto and ran across to get the creek. I think he ran across the log to avoid stepping on the leaves and sticks that harmonically revealed his presence. As the fox laps water, green frogs dive from the shore into the creek one by one, at least six or seven of them. To the right of the main trail are some young pine saplings that are rubbed of bark and branches from one complete side, a sign of male deer activity that have used the tree to rub off the velvet that had previously covered their freshly grown antlers. Now I can only hope that the deer returns to same area.
Crows fly and squaw overhead followed by cackling geese that seem to be miles in the air gliding over in their v pattern in the purple and orange stained sunset sky. A small group of deer appear into sight just as shooting light begins to fade. A doe with a fawn and what looks to be a yearling doe cautiously take step by step, repeatedly dropping their noses to the ground eating at patches of green vegetation. As I get together and climb down in late dusk darkness I can hear the leaves turn as the deer run away.