Walking Seasonal Roads: Reflections on a Dwelling Place

7. Back to the Land: Harrisburg Hollow Road

64 7 Back to the Land Harrisburg Hollow Road In the winter tree A long-eared owl silhouette Gained by being seen Late one afternoon on Harrisburg Hollow Road, I encountered a barred owl. I first saw it on the wing as it flew down the road and into the dark woods. Walking toward where it entered the woods, I spotted it far back in the dark branches perched on a pine limb. We stared at one another for a while, and then it turned and flew away. I can recall every encounter I have ever had with owls, and every time, I feel it is a small miracle. I believe that the encounters are a message. I don’t mean the sort of messages Hedwig , Pigwidgeon, and the other mail-carrying owls of Harry Potter convey or the messages Native Americans believe owls send. I mean the kinds of communications that are not about details. The message I get from owls is their presence. It is like thinking of someone you love and suddenly that person is there, and it is wonderful just to be in his or her presence. We sometimes begin where the road makes a sharp right and becomes a narrow dirt road. The woods to the south belong to the Ferris family. Other times we begin farther up where it makes a sharp left and borders a long pasture. The posted signs read, “Poole Farms, Wheeler, NY.” On the fence posts, bluebirds perch poised 66 | Walking Seasonal Roads with the confidence of ace pilots, and on the other side, a pond harbors yellow-rump warblers. A line of red pines forms a windbreak where field and song sparrows flitter among the branches almost all year long. The spot is known as Puckerbush, according to Doug Bigelow and Martha Ferris Bigelow. The name comes from the youthful parking and smooching that once took place here. The only puckering done now is by the phoebes and juncos, who like the brambles in the small dip of the road where a streamlet crosses. The road passes through open fields and woods, so the wildflowers are both meadow and woodland species. In the open sections, the wildflowers paint a border of vivid colors and rich textures throughout the spring, summer, and fall. There are day lilies, bluebells, vervain, Queen Anne’s lace, chicory, cow vetch, phlox, milkweed, and burdock. Nowhere else do we see vervain (Verbena hastata) so abundant and healthy. Their fancy spikes in August decorate the roadside with blue candelabras until late in September. The woodland flowers begin with trout lilies and trillium , move to mayapples and woodland sunflowers, and taper off with goldenrods. Interruption, cinnamon, and sensitive fern add green arabesques to the sparsely inhabited shade. One fall a flock of pheasants dressed in their finest gathered in the road and scattered like the breaking of the rack in billiards when we approached. Occasionally, we see raccoon, white-tailed deer, and the solitary skunk ambling across the road. One warm sunny summer afternoon I spotted a dead skunk in the road. The lyrics of a funky tune popular in the early 1970s, “Dead Skunk in the Middle of the Road” by Loudon Wainwright II immediately popped into my mind. I don’t know why this song rises up from the gray matter of my memory whenever I see a dead skunk in the road. Maybe it has something to do with the song’s catchy beat, its zydeco rhythm, and blood-and-guts images. It is such a silly tune, and I never know whether to chuckle or admonish myself when the lyrics roll through my thoughts. Back to the Land | 67 Sniffing to make sure the scent was tolerable, I eased over to the roadkill and leaned down to get a closer look. It was a young striped skunk, and I was about to make a remark to my walking partner, when the skunk moved. It opened one eye, stretched a leg, and twitched its tail. My mind went into flight mode and with the agility of a tai chi master, I backed away as quickly and as slowly as I could. The skunk rose up from its sleep, shook itself out, and waddled off. I was relieved we parted on such good terms, neither one of us the worse for the encounter. While skunks seem to inspire a certain comic element, from...