Quiet on the Mountain

“One way to open your eyes is to ask yourself,
What if I had never seen this before?
What if I knew I would never see it again?"
~Rachel Carson

"Muddlety"

The blue and white school bus slows and comes to a stop at the top of a hill, the gravel road beyond winding down and disappearing into the cool, white cloud surrounding us on this very foggy morning. After a week’s travels on the back roads of West Virginia, to the north, south, east and west of Opossum Creek, peering through steamy windows, as the passengers, birders, load and unload themselves at every stop, I could not tell you on this day, exactly where we were—
somewhere, though, wonderful.
A mountaintop I’ll remember as “Muddlety.”


Several days’ rain has left these woods thick and rich —
new spring green, strong shades in leaves bursting from buds along every branch. Mosses, luxuriously dense and soft, run up and over every still surface. Ferns, stems bent, heads rolled as they slowly lift layers of leaves from the ground, stand in clusters across the forest floor.

Dwarf Ginseng, Panax trifolius

Cranesbill, Geranium sp.

From the edge, where I watch, knee-deep in brilliant yellow blossoms, vines hang in tremendous tangles, brown ropes stitching tree to tree.
Steep hillsides step away from the gravel road,
rocky ledges tumble toward it.

Misted spiderweb and Golden Ragwort

And through the fog, there is bird song.
This mountain drips with life.


Barely more than black silhouettes against the white sky, small birds dart between the treetops overhead--fine forms, intent upon seeing who has come to these woods, in song, calling to them on this foggy morning. Our guide, again, calls into the mist, and one flits close with an answer. Singing proudly, long and sweet, from a branch just a few feet away--a Cerulean Warbler, sky blue strokes upon white.
Out of this mist, comes beauty.
The song that fills this space has wings.

Foamflower, Tiarella sp.

West Virginia White, Pieris virginiensis

Wrapped up in the magic of that West Virginia mountain,
I could have stayed there all morning, happy to sink into its rich bed of life, pull the cover over my head and rest--
imagine all I’d heard about destruction and lost habitat within the Appalachians, to be somewhere else.

Red Eft,
juvenile stage of Eastern Red-spotted Newt, Notophthalmus viridescens

Somewhere not as wonderful as this.
Somewhere I would never see.

land snail

Looking back from the valley, beyond the gravel road, the logging creeps up the slopes of Muddlety.
Once bare, the blasting will begin.
Her future promised to coal—
her life upturned, and left—
mountaintop removed, valley filled,
with more than waste rock and coal dust.
Filled with the quiet of a silent spring.

(click to enlarge)

“We stand now where two roads diverge.
But unlike the roads in Robert Frost's familiar poem, they are not equally fair.
The road we have long been traveling is deceptively easy,
a smooth superhighway on which we progress with great speed, but at its end lies disaster.
The other fork of the road, the one less traveled by,
offers our last, our only chance to reach a destination that assures the preservation of the earth."
~Rachel Carson from Silent Spring

Read more information about Mountaintop Removal Mining here.
Get involved with the Ohio Valley Environmental Coalition here.

Capturing the Eft
photo by Julie Zickefoose

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See more Camera Critters here.

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No wonder

Mom and me

I see in my face, yours--the eye, the nose, the chin.
Your upturned hand where a damsel had rested.
Is it any wonder,
you were my mother?

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A Bird in the Hand

I have a fondness for the very small.
Awe for those, who, despite their tiny size, accomplish feats of gargantuan proportion.
Completing a round trip journey each year, over a pathway of a thousand miles, from their winter months’ stay in Central America, to arrive at my window each spring—
weary travelers, reminding me a feeder is expected, hanging in this very spot, readied with clean nectar, from which to sip.

Ruby-throated Hummingbird, female

The migration of Ruby-throated Hummingbirds, these remarkable little powerhouses, is studied by Bill Hilton, Jr. of Operation Ruby Throat, and his demonstration of hummingbird banding started my week at the New River Festival.

preparing to collect and record data

Every part of the banding operation must be scaled down for these tiny navigational stars, from the handling of the delicate birds, to the bands themselves, each barely the size of the head of a pin.

Hummingbird bands stored on safety pin

As each small bird is caught in the trap, it is quickly removed and restrained in a small tube--the little gem, tucked head-first into a safe, dark place. Wings held closed and still.

gently lifting foot to place band

Its few grams of weight are recorded on the register, beside its band number, species, age, and sex. Date, location and time of the capture are also recorded.
Carefully, the numbered band is placed above her foot, and gently tightened.



Tail measurements are taken and the bill examined with a hand lens to determine age. Etchings along its length, from the rapid growth of nestlings, are worn away over time as these tiny birds feed, each brush of their slender bills against the tube of a feeder or flower, smoothing growth ridges gradually away.


Next, the throat is examined for feather color, another indicator of the little bird’s age. And with a quick puff of air against her body, feathers blown aside to check for body fat, yellow peeking through her translucent pink skin.


She seems quite calm through all this, the firm but gentle handling quieting her.
Warm morning sunshine reflecting the lovely iridescent green of her back.
And, in silence, all eyes watch, and marvel at such a tiny one so close.
So still.


Until she is held in an open palm to be released,
and, with a burst--is gone.
Safe travels, little one.

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Picking Postcards

I’ve never been especially good at making decisions.
Often, it seems, given more thought, the lines become blurred, hopelessly tangled in an inseparable mass.
The simplest task,
never quite that.

Like spinning the rounds of postcards,
standing, unsteadily beside the worn counter,
shop clerk, patiently waiting,
or perhaps not.

Is it prettier to me,
one who feasts ravenously for a handful of days,
and remembers it with a handful of postcards?

View from Hawk's Nest State Park

Flowering White Dogwood

Infinite shades of Green

Flowering Pink Dogwood

Glade Creek Grist Mill, Babcock State Park

New River Gorge Sunset from Smokey's on the Gorge

The Giants of West Virginia (SWF)

Tulip Tree,
Liriodendron tulipifera

New River Gorge, sunset

The afternoon sun shines strongly on the western-facing slope,
the New River, narrowly snaking far below, beyond densely treed ridges.
In the distance, that marvel of engineering, the giant spanning this divide, stands proudly above them all—within these woods, Tulip Trees, green giants in their own right, tallest of the eastern hardwoods.

Tulip Tree against evergreens

They are common here, and prized in the timber industry for their tall, straight trunks.
Yet, with each passing, my eye marvels at the leaf.




Tiny, tender, and green—folded in half, side-to-side, so perfectly, it seems to have been cut as a paper doll.
Unfurling from a sheath, to open broadly, flap and flutter against a blue sky.


And when I think I have not seen anything more beautiful than this leaf against the sun,
its glow fades into the fog--carries raindrops on its sturdy breadth.
And glistens like silver against the white sky.

(click to enlarge)

New River Gorge, sunset

The New River Gorge Bridge is the highest vehicular bridge in the Americas, crossing the New River in Fayetteville, West Virginia at a height of 876 feet. Completed in 1977, it was, until recently, the longest steel-arch bridge in the world.
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See more Skywatch here.

Find yourself in West Virginia

New River Canyon from Hawk's Nest

I could have gone there alone.
To the woods that are bathed in a fog, tracing the winding path--
another river carves its way between wild places, welcoming birds.
This forest, the breeding ground for many;
others, passers through.
Soaked in the richness of the West Virginia woods,
air thick with song as mist dripping from a branch,
and, as I often wait and watch as one,
all around, so much I do not know.

Rain on new Sassafras

This group gathered--their watch, together.
Parting the curtain, bringing beauty center stage.
From within this wild, to the edge, such loveliness perched for all.
Many eyes watching,
each one so bright,
he dashes forward,
with song.

I would not have seen him, had I been here alone.
I have found myself in West Virgina.

The People of New River

The Nature Bloggers:
Nature Remains, Wrenaissance Reflections, Hasty Brook, Susan Gets Native, KatDoc's World, Sycamore Canyon, From the Faraway, Nearby, Mary's View

A trip with Wil Hershberger

Early morning at the Meadow House
with Jim McCormac of Ohio Birds and Biodiversity

Bird banding with Bill Hilton of Hilton Pond

Keith Richardson watching in background

A trip with Jeff Gordon and Julie Zickefoose

Dave Pollard, KatDoc's World, Jeff Gordon's mom

Julie Zickefoose and Steve McCarthy

Julie Zickefoose and Bill of the Birds at Cathedral Cafe

Wrenaissance Reflections

From the Faraway, Nearby

Mary's View

Hasty Brook, My Life With Birds, Somewhere in NJ

Walking with Connie Toops

The road at Muddlety Strips

View more ABC Wednesdays here!