Herb School - A Path to Connection

The Plant and Place Immersion is your path to connection.

I am excitedly gearing up for the Plant and Place Immersion this spring! Together we'll dig deep into bioregional herbal medicine, build our knowledge of place, and cultivate relationship with the living world. 

The Plant and Place Immersion officially begins the first weekend in May. Our intimate group - limited to 10 - will study herbal medicine through five full weekends of hands-on in-person learning and eight evening virtual sessions. Thoughtful home study will weave together what we learn in-person. Participants formally finish the last weekend in August. Two bonus seasonal plant walks, exclusively offered to participants, one in April and one is Autumn, bookend the experience. The Immersion takes place in Milford, Pa on the Wagon Wheel Preserve and within the Milford Experimental Forest. More details below (after a short story). 

My graduating class from the Chestnut School of Herbal Medicine 2010. Pardon the poor quality, this was before the era of top-notch cameras in our phones. Learn more about the Chestnut School (now online) here: Premier Online Herbalist Courses: Chestnut School of Herbal Medicine

Lately, I've been thinking about why attending an herbal medicine school is so valuable. To help paint a picture, I'd love to share with you a little about my own life-changing experience in herb school.

I attended herbal medicine school back in 2010. I chose an in-person program in Asheville, NC, where I lived at the time, that offered an inspiring curriculum. At that time in my life, I was still identifying my path. I was in my mid-twenties, had a degree in philosophy which qualified me for nothing and everything, and was fresh off a thru-hike on the Appalachian Trail. 

I loved nature. That much I knew. I loved having my hands in the dirt. I ate a lot of plants, experimented with them as medicine, and was excited to finally rent a home with a plot of land where I could grow my own garden. I knew I wanted to do something real, more than that, I want to live a life that was real. After completing the AT, the ordinary world where humans remained largely indoors solely engaged in the human agenda, felt less-than-real to me. In these human-centered settings, I frequently felt drained. Oh, but when I stepped outside, and engaged with the rest of the living world, then I too came alive! I asked myself some questions:

• How could I dedicate myself more deeply to the natural world, that which nourished my spirit? 

• How could I weave the natural world into my human life, so that the two didn't feel so separate?

• How could I learn to feed and heal myself outside of human constructs?  This inability had become glaringly evident after living on the trail for six months. Now it was clear this was essential knowledge all humans should have.

Herbal medicine school was my answer. I didn't have it all planned out when I signed up, but the curriculum spoke to me, the plants called to me. The school provided in-the-field experience. Classes took place on my teacher's property - nothing fancy simply a spot in the woods behind her house, a canopy for shelter. We visited the nearby national forest frequently where we met wild plants in-person and harvested them for food and medicine. We took three week-long camping trips in wilderness areas where we learned about plants and place, practiced primitive skills, wildcrafted, and shared stories. I found community with my classmates. Even if each one of us very different from one another, these were my people. We found wonder in natural world, we marveled at tiny shoots and gnarly trees, we believed in building lives outside the box, and if we didn't believe in ourselves when we started, we sure did by the time we graduated. By the close of the program, I was well versed in botany, taxonomy, plant and tree ID, herbal energetics, how herbs applied to human conditions, and how to prepare plants as herbal remedies. I didn't know it all, but herb school was the foundation. I had all the skills I needed to continue learning. 

And so did just that, in my own way. I hopped on the 1,200-mile Mountains to Sea Trail. The trail became my classroom. I studied the plants I encountered. I weaved them into backcountry meals and medicines. I blogged about the experience (you can find that here). I wrote a book about the edible and medicinal plants. I garnered attention for foraging and long-distance hiking and going-your-own-way. Folks asked me to teach classes and provide consultations and give talks and write articles. Fifteen years later, I am still walking this path. A path where I am engaged with the natural world daily, where I am inspired by the work that I do and the fellow plant-lovers I meet. I have found my place within the natural world and guide others in doing the same. 

Teaching basic botany during the Plant and Place Series 2023

There are so many directions herbal medicine can lead you. Every path will be different. But what I can promise you is that your path will be one of the heart, infused with spirit, and rife with joy. Your path, too, will benefit more than you. It will benefit those that cross your path, your loved ones, the plants themselves and the living world. When we find our place in the natural world, the earth benefits too. Too many have forgotten that we, humans, are a part of nature. This false dichotomy justifies and perpetuates the thoughtless consumption and destruction humans inflict upon the earth. When we recognize that the natural world functions through reciprocity, and we are participant, we remember we are of an earthly community. The earth is kin. We foster her health as she fosters ours. This is what the Plant and Place Immersion is all about.

The Plant and Place Immersion is more than an herbal medicine program, it is a path to connection. One that will benefit you and your earthly community alike. Sound good? Keep reading.

Plant and Place Immersion, Spring and Summer 2025

Meet the plants.

Through plant-sits, you'll have an opportunity to slow down, to examine what makes each plant morphologically unique, and also how the leaves feel when crushed, what scent they emanate, how they taste when nibbled. This is what we call organoleptic knowledge, aka sensory knowledge. Included in our sensory knowledge is the imaginal, those sensations, feelings, thoughts, and memories that arise when engaging with this plant. It's like swapping stories with a plant. Sensory knowledge is how people came to know plants' properties before we had labs to identify constituents. To work with the plants, one had to know them as individuals, one had to create relationship. This is our foundation. 

Learn how to confidently identify plants and gain knowledge of place.

Participants will learn basic botany and how to use a key to identify plants. Plants do not grow in isolation. Once you begin looking closely, subtleties become apparent. Individuals stand out in the green landscape. You'll notice when plants bloom, in what habitats they grow, and in the company of what other plants. Plants are not a microcosm. They root in the earth, absorb nutrients and water, and transform sunshine into food. Insects and animals visit them for food and shelter and, surely, you'll meet them too, especially when quietly sitting in your sit spot. This leads to the next point! 

Cultivate relationship to place.

Every participant is encouraged to find a sit spot, a place in nature to sit, turn on the senses, and notice. Through this slowing down and observation, you'll come to know place as our ancestors did. We can have all the facts in the world about the place in which we live, but we must spend time in place and allow space for communion, communication, to create relationship. This is way easier than it sounds. Just sit and be present.

Ethically and safely harvest plants for food and medicine.

You'll learn how to harvest plants through practices that benefit both you and the plants. We do not take the plants for our own use. Rather we ask that we may work with them, harvest only what we need, and give thanks. We can give thanks in a variety of ways - plant nearby seeds, sprinkle water, clear competing invasive plants, just say thank you! The plants give and we give back. This is practicing reciprocity.

Prepare plants as food and herbal medicine.

Participants will learn how to incorporate wild harvested and homegrown plants into delicious meals and easy healthy snacks. You'll learn step-by-step, hands-on how to prepare herbal tinctures, infusions and decoctions, infused oils and salves, herbal vinegars and more. By preparing plants as food and medicine, we create relationship with them and the place in which they grew. As we consume them, they nourish us and contribute to our physiology. We quite literally become inseparable. 

Discover how herbs benefit the human body.

I'll share with you the ways in we can work with these plants to balance various imbalances within the human body. We'll monograph the herbs that we meet, by creating detailed medicinal profiles. These profiles will contain both scientific knowledge and traditional ways of knowing. Every participant will finish the program with a materia medica - a collection of plant monographs - to reference for a lifetime. Participants will have the skills to expand their materia medicas as they meet new plants.

Methods for connecting with plants and place.

Forest bathing, barefoot walking, journaling, and gardening will further inspire your path to connection with the natural world and her green inhabitants. Guest teachers will provide a variety of insights from their paths. The ways in which we find connection are varied and personal. Through the Immersion, you are sure to find those ways which most resonate with you!

Enjoy a community of like-minded earth-centered folks.

This is yet another advantage to attending an in-person school. With your fellow participants you'll revel in the natural world and make connections in unexpected ways. Intentionally built into the curriculum is time to share stories and insights. We have much to learn from one another.

Kinship with the natural world is the most powerful medicine there is. If you're considering herbal medicine school and a path to deeper connection, I hope you'll join me this spring for the Plant and Place Immersion! Learn more about the program here: Immersion

Take advantage of a 10% discount through March 1st.

Don't hesitate to reach out with any questions you may have. I understand choosing your path is a big decision! Immersion

Enjoying a tea circle after forest bathing with participants in the Plant and Place Immersion 2024

Wandering Home: The Old Loggers Path

 

Old Logger's Path signage crafted from an old saw

We were slated to head home after the Allegheny Front Trail. I hadn't set out on this wander with any firm intentions of how many miles we would hike or how many loops we would complete. For when I had planned our journey, I had been so busy, so mentally fatigued that I couldn't contemplate detailed itineraries or too many goals. Also, right before we began Amos had developed a skin condition that required a medicated wash and mousse and antibiotics. I didn't know how dealing with this condition while hiking was going to pan out. However, with each day my mental clutter lessened, and his skin condition improved. By the time we were done with the Quehanna Trail, we were stronger and my remaining miles on the Susquehannock Trail System breezed by despite the week of rain that settled in upon us. The rain had been logistically tricky. We found ourselves repeatedly back at a little cabin in Potter's Family Campground taking shelter. I was eager for the Allegheny Front Trail. We were now in fighting shape, however given the weather that we'd navigated, I felt likely this trail would be our last. However, when I found us camped on what was to be our last night on the AFT, although I felt a tug to return home, I felt a stronger tug to remain on trail. Despite a very heavy backpack, the wilderness had markedly lightened my load and it seemed Amos' too. The quiet of the forest had seeped into my mental state and its beauty coupled with miles of movement daily had buoyed my spirits. I checked in back home, all was well at Wagon Wheel Preserve. Scott was still in Europe. There was no reason why we couldn't do just one more loop. 

Amos walking beautifully graded trail on the Old Loggers Path

I had rough notes on the Old Loggers Path. Like the Allegheny Front Trail, I had no official guide. I didn't even have a sturdy map for this one, although I had printed off a PDF map at home with very tiny print. I also appreciated the work of a fella I found online who had documented his waypoints along the trail: Old Loggers Path Backpacking Guide — Into the Backcountry (intothebackcountryguides.com). After futzing with All Trails on the AFT, I'd finally figured out how to use the map function without active cell service, so I hoped that would be a help. However, what I did know was that this trail was supposed to be easy, a 27-mile route of graded path utilizing old logging roads, forest roads, and railroad grade. I also had a trunk still packed with just enough supplies - dehydrated meals, fuel, water purification - that we could swing it last minute. It seemed like a great way to wrap up our journey.

Rock Run - deemed the "prettiest creek in Pennsylvania"

We began our journey at the Ellenton Road trailhead, that is after realizing a bridge was out on Pleasant Stream Road that forced us to do a sizable detour on forest roads. The Old Loggers Path traverses Loyalsock State Forest, an area I had never before explored. I was amazed at the remote feeling of this region, as I drove winding leafy forest roads through the mountains without service, my trusty PDF map by my side. Had I not seen very official roadside signs welcoming me to LOYALSOCK STATE FOREST, I would have turned back. We parked it later in the day that I would have liked, eight miles ahead of us to the Doe Run lean-to where I planned we'd stay the night.

Lichen on rock - looks a bit like elephant skin does it not?

 Admittedly I don't have many great pictures of this first day. I started off in long pants and sleeves which takes a lot. The temps felt colder than I had expected and once we started the already subdued light was swallowed by grey clouds. We started downhill on, as described, wide well graded path. However, the forest felt dull, lacking in life. The forest floor was rock and leaves. Tree limbs that west of here had still sported showy leaves were already bare. To add to that, all of these trees seemed so young, many were beech and showed signs of disease. I thought about the name of this trail, Old Loggers Path, and was reminded that all these woods had surely been cleared less than a century ago. I carried on and tried to remind myself that this easy trail was a breeze to walk. When we crossed paths with a particularly large yellow birch, towering amidst the hardwoods, its base buttressed so that I felt I could nestle into a crook, I paused. I laid my hands upon her peeling bark. I wanted to let these trees know they were seen. Did they see me too like the hemlock in Hammersly Wild Area. I sensed they did, but the trust didn't come as easy. When we lunched at the beautiful Rock Run, a clear, cold creek that carves between layered rock and the roots of hemlock, falls from stony ledges, and did indeed have a feeling of the ancient, all the forest seemed cold. I sat on a seat that some other human had fashioned lovingly and that too felt cold. The forest was so still I could barely imagine any other humans ever having been here. Amos was eager for lunch, however after was also eager to move on rather than snooze for it was too cold to stall. I questioned for the first time, just why were we out here? I could be home, warm, eating something besides a stale english muffin and old cheese. 

Doe Run Shelter

We pushed on to Doe Run Shelter, which I found to be surprisingly inviting. While making dinner, the sun suddenly began to peek through the clouds. It soon drenched the sky in pink as the clouds thinned into wisps. My bones warmed, a little. I read the trail register inside the lean-to and found dozens of entries. So many people had passed through these woods. Young backpackers on their first journey with a parent, groups of four and five, a number of solo folks doing the loop. Each one spoke of the beauty of this place, the magic, the wonders they had found. This forest was not empty. Devoid of life. Not only were the young trees and clear, cold, running creek evidence of that, but so was this journal, packed full of people who had found joy here. Nor were these woods lonely or not seen. It was all in my perspective, I was comparing this trail rather than appreciating it for what it was. Still it was cold. I decided if there was sun the next day, we'd carry on for the entirety of the loop. If not, we would shorten our journey. This was no one's hike but our own. 

Road crossing on the Old Loggers Path and so much sun!

The next morning brought sun. Cold temps that made my fingers and toes go numb. But sweet, golden, sun, like manna from the Trail Gods. We hiked on, and as we did my extremities warmed. I shed layers. Amos tugged full speed ahead, his tail swinging like a metronome. Leaves crunched underfoot and the scent of autumn emanated. From the ground up, color appeared. 

A kaleidoscope of autumn color

I heard my first bird since starting this trail chirp and spotted large squirrels darting to and fro in the leafy understory. We turned off of wide graded path and onto true trail, climbing upward. Once there, all the sky had cleared. I could see for miles. Winterberry shrubs brushed my shoulders sporting red fruits. 

View from Sullivan Mountain, windmills in the distance - this region is known for its strong winds, hence the wind power

Winterberry (Illex verticilatta) - a native, deciduous holly

Somehow the cold, crisp air no longer felt inhospitable. Now it was enlivening. I thanked the sun, I thanked the trees, I thanked the birds, I thanked Amos for his pep, I was just so grateful to be here. So grateful that I had decided to keep going. There was absolutely nowhere else on this planet I'd rather be. It was as if when the clouds cleared from the sky they had cleared from my own mind as well. I thought to myself, and I think it's a fair question to ask you too: Has there ever been a trail you've hiked where you said, You know I wish I hadn't hiked that trail? 

Wild Ginger

Not only had the sun returned, but midday my beloved plants returned! A healthy, flourishing understory of witch hazel and ironwood and so many precious native herbaceous plants: herb robert, wild ginger, wood nettle, broad-leaved waterleaf, wild anise, asters, and violet leaves. My step grew spritelier with every plant I saw. 

Star-shaped doubly compound leaves of Herb Robert

Asters gone to seed

And mature trees abounded! Great big oaks and beeches and yellow birches and black cherries. Frequently they seemed to be multi-trunked, as if they found more than one way to flourish in these woods. 

An elder oak

A two-trunked black cherry

The views persisted as well. Sullivan Mountain, Sharp Top, Sprout Point. So many vistas packed into one day. Even the road crossings had vistas. While walking another stretch of narrow true trail, I marveled at the ridge visible through the bare-limbed trees paralleling us. Walking one ridge and seeing another through the trees in the far distance, coupled with the brisk air and crunching leaves harkened of my early days on the Appalachian Trail. And I smiled. I remembered the miles my father had walked with me. I thought how he would have loved this well-graded trail rife with views and history. 

Sharp Top vista 

Sullivan Mountain vista

Vista at a road crossing

A ford at Pleasant Stream was a little tricky. Here the trail simply dead ended and I could see no sign of blazing on the other side. Fortunately, my humble PDF map did point to a bridge out, so I at least knew I was still on the right track. I tip toed on rocks while Amos waded, and he led the way once on the other side to where the blazed trail again returned. We also found a lovely place there for lunch and afterwards Amos was quite fine with lingering.

Amos with a full belly thinking deep thoughts 

We hiked 12.5 miles on this second day, each mile better than the one before it. We took a side trail to see Sprout Point vista, reportedly .1 miles off the main trail and thank goodness we did. Here we found our lean-to for the evening and the most stunning view that I'd encountered yet. All the valley spread out before me, layers of mountains on the horizon. I could see where rain showers were coming down in isolated areas on the ridge. I turned round for a selfie, and gasped...

I got my antlers back!

I had grown antlers! I chuckled and started to reposition so as not to have two prongs coming out of my head. Then I realized this image meaningful. In fact, it overflowed with meaning. I smiled coyly and snapped. Then put my phone away and breathed deep, gazing out over the immense beauty, the vastness before me. I raised my hands to my head, making my deer antlers once more. A great gust of wind swept through rattling the dry leaves and blowing stray hairs about my face. These, my antlers, they were my power, my strength, that which had felt subject to so much strain this past year as pancreatic cancer quickly consumed my father. As a family we had remarked on how he had lost his power. I'd dreamed of deer so much during this time. Typically, I was one or exhibited deer-like features. I guided deer to shelter and to safety. In my last dream, a deer's antlers had been severed. Somehow, by doing nothing more than walking and opening to the natural world around me, letting it come in and do its work, quietly and subtly day after day, my antlers were returning. I spread my arms wider overhead, creating elk antlers for my dad. An elk hunt was the last hunt he'd taken before he'd fallen ill. Again, a great wind swept up, blowing hard against my face and tingling my fingertips. He, too, had his power back. He had seen so many vistas with me on this hike, walked steps alongside mine, struggled up mountains, and marveled at tracks in the mud. My father, freed of the constraints of a body that could no longer serve him, now was everywhere. 

Signage on the Old Loggers Path

Our third and final day was one of light steps and fast miles. We walked graded path through spacious sun-dappled woods and between corridors of cut rock. Leafy oaks swayed in the strong wind that swept through the forest. It was surely the coldest day yet, but I hiked with bare arms, letting the cold wind awaken my every cell. Amos thought we should trail run at times and we did, a little. As we walked our last mile through young beech woods, their gray trunks standing slender all around us. I gave thanks to the trees, each one I could think of that had shared this forest with us. I gave thanks to the trail for carrying us. I gave thanks to the sun for warming us. I gave thanks to creeks for their nourishment. I gave thanks to Amos for being my steadfast companion. I gave thanks to my father for imbuing in me a desire for adventure, the unknown. I gave thanks to me for sticking with it and doing what I knew I most needed. For seeking and then surrendering to that which always brought me back to center. I gave thanks for my budding antlers.

Exploring Hammersly Wild Area and More

 

Amos and I taking shelter from the rain beneath the awning of a hunt camp

On my Pennsylvania Wilds Wander I also had time to enjoy some day hikes. This has been one of the luxurious things about having my car along with me on this journey. I've never had such freedom before to just grab a beautiful roadside campsite or leap over to a stretch of trail that called to me on a map. Also, driving rural roads between loops and in further exploring has also provided a glimpse into the culture and beauty of the larger region - the multitude of creative hunt camps from hand-painted decades-old tin trailers to exquisite log cabins with swinging bridges strung over a necessary creek crossing, the roadside signs for elk crossings, the eclectic seasonal campgrounds with cottages and trailers and sometimes combinations thereof (I want to be a little ol' lady in one of these one day), the local gas station that also serves as the local restaurant, the miles of forest road that wind through these hills (some easily passable, some not), and the tiny cottages that seem only accessible via ATV or snowmobile. Countless times I could barely get from point A to point B because I was too busy marveling. I also had the opportunity to exercise my ol' time map skills given that my phone's GPS was frequently without signal.

Camp at Big Springs campsite

Thanks to Ranger Hannah and Kathy Stephenson at Susquehannock State Forest I got the inside scoop on this lovely campsite just off Lebo Road. I drove for miles down a winding, well graded, gravel, although very narrow and leaf blanketed road between a shimmering creek and dense woods, hoping all the way that my li'l sedan could handle it. Here I was able to set up camp and stage myself perfectly to finish up some miles on the Susquehannock Trail System (STS). We hiked the little-traveled Wildcat Trail which carried us beneath a broad leafy canopy to the STS. There we strode past the former pile up of blowdowns - each one now cut and cleared from the path - through grassy, fern-filled woods, through a deer exclosure, and onto forest road that soon connected us with the 94-mile Donut Hole Trail that runs concurrently for a portion with the STS and which we followed into Morgan Hollow.  

An enormous tree that graced our path on the Wildcat Trail

Last I saw this portion of the Susquehannock Trail it looked like a giant had dropped a box of pick-up sticks across it

The next day the Hammersly Wild Area beckoned. I had explored this area a couple of years back on the STS, and ever since had peered longingly at the broad expanse of green on the map that stretched beyond where I had been. The Hammersly Wild Area encompasses over 30,000 acres and is the largest area in Pennsylvania without a road. It is also one of the largest Wild Areas in the state, second only to the Quehanna Wild Area. Given its remoteness, my map warned those who explored to be adept in map and compass skills. Its call was strong. It was not easy to decide from which trailhead to start given that only the only way to these was also via miles and miles of winding forest roads. For the sake of my sedan and my nerves, I chose a trailhead close to the town of Cross Fork. There I could also dip into the Forest H. Dutlinger Area, which includes a 160-acre old growth forest.

Fording Hammersly Fork

It's a good thing that I stopped in the Susquehannock State Forest District Maintenance Office in Cross Fork to ask directions and to chat with a member of the staff who just so happened to know this trail well. For if I hadn't, I never would have believed I was indeed on trail. One map showed an unnamed trail leading to the blazed Beech Bottom Trail, another showed none at all. However, this man assured me that a trail did indeed exist, and he had walked it. There had even been a dedication ceremony performed there when a plaque had been placed for the Natural Area. Very well. I drove down a rutted residential road and parked in a small lot. There I walked about a tenth of mile at most and found that the trail simply went into the creek and appeared to pick up on the other side. It was a cool day, but I rolled up my pants and went for it. Amos thought a dip was just fine of course. 

The trail, roughly one mile long to the blazed Beech Bottom Trail

Well, we would end up crossing that creek several more times while also passing the most intriguing, yet rather ominous looking, hunt camps. At some point we passed a chimney standing along the trail and I wondered at a set of tracks in the mud. Could they be elk?

One of the intriguing although rather uninviting hunt camps along the path

A chimney along the trail

Elk track perhaps?

When we were faced to ford the creek for a fourth time, I almost turned back, I couldn't believe that this was the way to a designated trail. But Amos insisted we forge ahead. When we reached the other side, low and behold there was a yellow blaze and a sign for the Beech Bottom Trail. We stepped into the forest amidst towering hardwoods. We climbed up, up, up. Blowdowns across the trail forced me to throw my body over top and Amos to crawl on his belly. The trail narrowed with stinging nettle, moss, and asters and I wondered if we'd be able to spy it to come back the way we came. The higher we climbed the more eastern hemlock appeared until soon we were surrounded. Towering hemlock stood as far as the eye could see, both up and down the ravine. Among these tall slender trees were the most enormous I'd ever seen, some three and four feet in diameter. They were healthy. But not without some help. These trees are treated to fight the invasive woolly adelgid that is broadly decimating these trees. 

F.H. Dutlinger Natural Area, home to old growth eastern hemlocks (Tsuga canadensis)

Healthy eastern hemlock needles. Notice the two vertical white stripes on the undersides of these needles? This is a helpful identifier for eastern hemlock. These bands are called stomata. All leaves have them although they are not usually so visible. They play a role in gas and moisture balance.

Once at the top of the ravine, I spied the largest hemlocks yet and I walked a dark plateau where little light pierced the canopy. Yet moss covered logs and rocks glowed like beacons guiding the way. Still, I wondered if we'd ever find our way back. We hiked for some time, eventually hopping on what I believe to have been the Trout Ridge Trail, which carried us through deciduous woods filled with black and yellow birch, beech, witch hazel, and big tooth aspen. It lightly rained and the wind blew strong enough that my fingers grew numb. Still, Amos powered on. When I'd seen we'd traveled over four miles, I realized we had better turn round. We found our way back to the hemlock forest and lunched at a trail intersection. The silence in this old growth hemlock forest was deafening. The wind had ceased. Not an insect buzzed nor chipmunk scurried. When suddenly the call of a barred owl echoed from just behind us. Then the resonant whoosh of large flapping wings. I spied the owl take flight through the slim tree trunks effortlessly and just like that, he was gone. This place had presence. We may have been visibly alone, save for the owl, however we were very much in company. I had the strong sense that these trees were as much aware of us as we were of them.

A fine mossy lunch spot, accompanied by an owl and eastern hemlocks

 

It was time to hasten our steps. Afterall, we had a creek to ford four more times. We found our way back with little effort and paused at a stunning waterfall we'd overlooked when we first entered the woods. Here stood a great big boulder laced with hollows and topped with a hemlock whose trunk poured around the stony surface like water. Moss and polypody ferns snuggled up to its base. Oddly, a single nail protruded from one of the hemlocks roots. Surely, we had not been the only humans to pause here.

Boulder with hollows to store secrets and magical forest trinkets

The lone nail

Roadside campsites and countless trailheads continued to abound throughout my journey, and I did my best to mark them down as they spoke to me. It is truly amazing the state forests we have here in Pennsylvania, their size, the freedom to explore at little to no expense. The independence to camp where you wish, roadside camping, and feeling of wild immersion remind me of some national forests that I have explored. I have always appreciated our local state forest in Northeastern PA, Delaware State Forest, however it is fractioned into parcels which are smaller than those I have been exploring these past few weeks. Pennsylvania truly does still encompass the wild. And for that I am grateful.

The Allegheny Front Trail

 

All smiles heading off on the Allegheny Front Trail

As part of my Pennsylvania Wilds Wander, I embarked on a third loop, Allegheny Front Trail (AFT). This approximately forty-mile trail winds through the southern portion of Moshannon State Forest and encircles Black Moshannon State Park. The Allegheny Front is a geological feature, a striking escarpment that travels from southern Pennsylvania into western Virginia and demarks the Ridge-and-Valley Appalachians and the Appalachian Plateau. I find it difficult to rate trails, for each trail offers its magic, but this loop definitely was one of my favorites on this journey and one that I will most certainly return to again. 

First vista traveling clockwise from Rattlesnake Pike (Route 504)

The trail started off with incredible vistas. I began at the eastern end of Rattlesnake Pike (Route 504) and headed clockwise (south). Almost instantly, I was rewarded with several views. From my perches, I peered into various hollows and the mountains beyond including Bald Eagle and Nittany valleys, Tussey Mountain which I walked for miles on the Mid State Trail, and Seven Mountains. The walking was tricky through here. I watched my steps carefully over wobbly rocks, especially with Amos on the scent. The scent of a porcupine I'd soon discover. Thankfully, we startled him as much as he startled us and after tumbling over himself, ol' porky waddled and Amos waited till he was out of sight to start his howling and pulling. It is without a doubt in a coonhound's nature to seek any moderately sized plump critter, even when covered in sharp spines.

Luminescent moss and autumn's acorns

As we stumbled over rocks, cushiony moss softened our steps and cast a green glow through autumn's multicolored woods. Maple and tupelo leaves bled red while those of birch and the great big leaves of tree-climbing grape vines shone yellow. When we descended to easier turf, we explored Black Moshannon's bog, periodically walking carefully laid boardwalks and puncheons over the soggiest of spots.

Amos en route through the bog

At times the sun shone so bright that despite the marked change in temps - cool and crisp - we still sweat and squinted. Yet we found reprieve in the forested portions of the bog where rhododendrons, eastern hemlocks, and yellow birches thrived. I will warn, despite how lovely these boardwalks look, they are slip and slides in the moist woods, especially with an Amos at the helm. After landing flat on my back, I took to side stepping them. Good thing my very large pack provides an excellent landing pad.

Walking through a densely forested portion of the bog

Most nights we camped wherever we found a spot, which was remarkably easy on the Allegheny Front Trail. There were also countless established, although not official, campsites marked by a fire ring and a cleared patch. Really, I hadn't known at all what to expect on this trail. I had a map that I'd acquired from the state forest, which showed creeks and elevation changes, but mileage was tough to estimate. There were no campsites marked, nor did I have those insights that a guidebook would typically provide like if a creek ran year-round or seasonally. Before I left for the trail, I scoured the internet and did find one helpful site: Allegheny Front Trail Backpacking Guide — Into the Backcountry (intothebackcountryguides.com). I marked down some significant points from this fella's Caltopo map on my paper map and also tried my hand at All Trails, although I wouldn't figure out how to really use this app till the end of the trail. You can infer my level of tech ability. To my surprise, the trail did prove to be well marked, sometimes with signage that provided mileage from one significant point to another. Although, knowing little about the Allegheny Front Trail and approaching it bare bones honestly only contributed to the journey - around every bend was a surprise - and enhanced my own sense of accomplishment at the end.

Camp on our third night along Black Moshannon Creek

On our second day, we walked golden forest through young black birches and more sassafras saplings than I have ever seen in one understory in my life. I cracked twigs periodically to breathe deep their fragrant candy-like aromas. Great vases of witch hazel would later appear in young oak woods, where I spied spidery yellow blossoms at eye level and listened to the sound of acorns plunking to the forest floor. Birds flitted to and fro and it seemed all the forest was alive despite the presence of fall. Wolf Rocks revealed small caves and sizable keyholes, and I wondered if we'd stumbled upon the home of Ol' Porky's relatives and close friends, evidenced by the piles of porcupine scat.

Witch hazel flower (Hamammelis virginiana)

Amos peering at Wolf Rocks, home to one of his favorite critters

                                                   

Piles of pellet-like porcupine scat

Along Six Mile Run, we dug into what I found to be the most challenging, yet also most beautiful part of this trail. A road bridge carried us across to the creek's wooded banks where first we walked amidst a plantation of towering red pine and then through spacious shaded hemlock woods where it seemed everywhere we looked was a lovely campsite. By the next day, when we still walked along Six Mile Run, the trail transformed into tunnels of rhododendron. We wound up and down through leathery-leaved corridors, oftentimes to avoid dipping into the creek by which we walked so close. Rhodos crept in so close that I swooshed and ducked, and they snatched my sunglasses clean off my head! Although I wouldn't realize until miles later when we emerged into blindingly bright sun. A minor loss on the AFT.

Red pine plantation (Pinus resinosa)

Trail along Six Mile Run

Morning fog along Six Mile Run and AFT

Rhododendron tunnel (Rhododendron sp.)

On this third day we crossed paths with what the locals call Red Mo'. Red Mo', labeled Moshannon Creek on maps, due to mine contamination, runs orange. Tragically the creek supports little life and is not fit for consumption. It is a predominant waterway in the region, wide and fast-moving, decorated with boulders that look like easter eggs half dipped in orangey dye and framed with dense deep green rhodo forests. Still, in the abundant sun, the creek sparkled, and I mourned for this body of water that surely use to nourish a valley of people and animals and plant life. Amos couldn't figure why I wouldn't let him take a dip or drink.

Moshannon Creek aka Red Mo'

Neighboring creeks, like Tarks Run and Black Moshannon, ran clear. And after climbing from rhodo woods and walking grassy forest road through an understory of huckleberry, in the company of milkweed gone to seed, we descended once more, this time atop a carpet of wintergreen, to these vital waters. Campsites abounded, likely frequented by the substantial college student constituent in nearby State College (just thirty minutes away). Still, even on a weekend, we had a lovely camp all to ourselves, sheltered by the boughs of eastern hemlocks and nestled amidst rhodos. 

Black Moshannon Creek, altogether different from Moshannon Creek

Milkweed (Asclepias syriaca) gone to seed. At this stage the seeds are still packed tightly within the pod, however when ripe, the then papery pod will crack open and cottony-tufted seeds will burst forth.

Our fourth and final day, we spent our first couple miles navigating a winding labyrinth of you guessed it, rhodo. However here these tough shrubs were carefully pruned so that we easily walked beneath their twining boughs. I felt as if we walked a passage from one realm to another, a secret tunnel of sorts. And when we finally emerged into hemlock woods, we found two sweet souls, Kat and Jeanie. These two women were out for an overnight and although we chatted for only twenty minutes, I felt as if I could have spent the afternoon with them. We talked trail - they had done numerous PA trails, some more than once - and plants - Kat had trained with a wise ol' herbalist by the name of Evelyn Snook - and they even offered up their home as refuge from the storms that were said to roll in that evening. The trail is a unique place that way. A place where complete strangers can still meet and greet one another openly and without distraction, the only motive to share stories and connect. Perhaps because this is what all the natural world is doing in one way or another - sharing, communicating, adapting and striving together - that we, too, subconsciously tune into this way of being. We need more of this way of being, this sort of kinship, in our human-centered domain.

So many tiny waterfalls and wading pools on the last day, each turn in the rhodo labyrinth revealed another.

The rest of our last day we walked brilliant, sun-filled woods where oaks stood tall, showing off their still-green leaves. We wound up and down and over easy path and I reveled in a feeling of lightness, this strength and balance that my body, and clearly Amos' too, had cultivated in the last few weeks. The sun warmed my skin, swift easy movement came naturally, and the scent of autumn was released in every step. All else fell away. This was now and this was all we needed. The day was good. Hiking, long-distance hiking, in particular, does that, for it can take awhile to slough the everyday mental clutter, the overstimulation, the ever-present awareness of time and responsibilities. But go outside, hike, be in that place through which your body moves, and it is revealed. We are graced with beauty, with nourishment, with what we need when we need it most ad infinitum. Just look around. Listen. Be still. Be wild.

Amos looking wildly happy!