Venturing off campus is a natural phenomenon for the new college student, and this week’s column reflects that.
New England is known for its mark on U.S. history, its ‘chowdah’ and its brief stint with beautiful fall foliage before devastating winters. With the viewing window for this sight being as brief as it is, I took the opportunity to venture into the wood of a nearby town with a dormmate who happens to be a local. The promise of a red sunset over an orange forest was enough to prompt the spontaneous Friday night excursion.
Coming from a sizable city that overlooks the American mecca of New York City, the faintest trace of nature strikes me as fascinating. The looming trees with their dangling branches, the various critters eager to make their presence known but their exact whereabouts undetectable and the supposedly still waters of the reservoir that rock to and fro, all give the wood a rustic charm that the concrete jungle simply does not have.
However, the allure of a nature untouched by human hands is shattered upon a closer inspection. The sins of a species begin to tally up.
The obvious intrusions — the bulky signs, marked trails and safety ramps — are easy to accept. They make it possible to coexist alongside the wood without having to drag Mother Nature into more courtrooms. She’s done her time over the last handful of centuries.
The more striking differences are made clear when eyes are left to wander: beer cans propped up against tree branches, discarded maps, crumpled tissues. No value is added to the journey by these items. The onetime convenience of not having to lug around a few extra ounces imprints in a more or less permanent manner on the site.
It is not until I arrive at the peak of Bear Hill (the highest point in this particular wood) that a third-tier offense makes itself visible. A stone tower, dripping in enough graffiti to remind me of the subways at home, protrudes against what would have been a stunning view. The walls of a spiral staircase reveal the insignia of local gangs, the initials of star-crossed teenage lovers and general signs of wear from what has to be dozens of years of exhaust. The intrusion here feels personal — snatching the intense sense of seclusion that brought me here right out of my fingertips.
From the top of the turret, the whole body of land is visible. The final sin is the most disturbing. Although all of the online calculators have deemed this weekend to be the 'peak' of the fall season, roughly half of the deciduous trees are bare. The other half are still a vibrant green, with only a few having a portion of their branches kissed by autumn. Fall fell but their leaves did not. The promise of an orange forest fades into obscurity as an undeniable casualty of climate change.
This is the wake of human destruction — the price nature pays for allowing us to exist.
Thoughts From Places: The North Reservoir in Winchester
