Subtle Beauty

Common polypody (Polypodium virginianum)

I have been feeling we've been marooned here in the cold northeast. I am a planner and goal-setter, but this winter I have been learning how to relinquish the control I normally exert and let the universe dictate. I've been reluctant to say the least, wracking my brain for a work-around because quite simply, this wasn't the way I planned it. I'm usually of the school of thought that if one wills it hard enough, one can make it be. But, I am beginning to think otherwise, at least if one wants to respect the delicacy with which life deserves to be handled. To put it simply, we were first stalled in our plans to head south for the winter by a delayed house-closing. This seemed a really big deal, that is until we got hit with bigger news. My fifteen year-old feline, Fran, has cancer, a cancer that cannot be treated. This lil' girl has been with me since I was 21 years old. She adapted to tiny apartments, wild fields and craggy mountains, even life in a 24-foot trailer. She awaited my return from every long hike I have taken. She could tell stories. So with Fran presently residing somewhere between earth and the ethereal, we are remaining here and taking one day at a time. And I have been ambling and trail running...a lot. Best therapy I know.

Amos at an Appalachian Trail register

As I have allowed myself to be here, really here, there is a beauty I have witnessed. I have been graced with a gift, the gift of time and quietude, and the opportunity to uncover and form connection with the subtle beauty that surrounds me. So Amos and I took a hike the other day on the Appalachian Trail - a trail that always feels like home - in Stokes State Forest - a forest I've explored more times than I can count. Still, I was enchanted by what we found.

Overlooking Culver's Lake from Kittatinny Ridge on AT

We began our hike at Culver's Gap off of Route 206 and hiked south on the AT, in the opposite direction of Sunrise Mountain, which is where most visitors gravitate. Within twenty minutes we stood on the Kittatinny Ridge overlooking Culver's Lake. Accompanied by pitch pine and cedar, we took in the views and then walked the rocky spine of the ridge and soon followed the white blazes into the forest. The trail was rocky, rockier than I remember and so I had to watch my every step.  But, beneath the towering oaks, beech and black birch, is where the real magic was found.

Foliose lichen on rock. Gray-green is thallus and mud-brown is ascomata. Both part of the same lichen, that I believe to be of genus Xanthoparmelia

The trail undulated and rocks that jutted like vertebrae from a spine were splotched in lichen, gray-green and mud brown, that in the subdued winter landscape appeared more vivid than ever. In the absence of flowering plants, I have been paying more attention to lichen lately, wanting to know their forms and names. They grow, slowly but surely, in the most unfavorable of conditions and their growth is so slow that we rarely take the time to notice it. 

The lichen pictured here, likely Xanthoparmelia, is considered a foliose lichen because of it foliage-like form. The gray-green lichen body, or thallus, adheres to the rock face but possesses leafy lobes that only loosely adhere. The mud-brown structure beside it is actually part of the same foliose lichen and contains the reproductive structures, called the ascomata. The ascomata are cup-shaped discs that contain spores. Lichen are an organism that is formed from the mutually beneficial relationship between an algae and a fungus. They readily reproduce assexually vegetatively, but when it comes to acquiring new genetic material, the fungus partner, disperses spores on the wind, just as any fungus would. Those spores hope to find a suitable algae somewhere out in the forest and create new lichen. Pictured is also another slow process at work. This lichen is microscopically decomposing this rock, a imperceptibly long process of converting stone into fertile soil. This category of lichen that grows on rocks - saxicolous - are different from the epiphytic lichen like old man's beard (Usnea) which grows on tree bark and twigs without affecting the tree.

Rock Tripe (Umbilicaria)

Another lichen, rock tripe, called the largest of boulders home. Rock tripe (Umbilicaria), true to its foliose form, resembles decaying leaves. This one is edible, however I would not recommend harvesting it unless in an emergency situation. Lichens grow slow, so consider how long this rock tripe has been forming here and how long it will take it to regenerate after you've picked it. Plus, it's flavor is reportedly nothing to be desired and can only be consumed after much boiling.

Trailing arbutus (Epigaea repens)

But it wasn't just the lichen that were persisting here in this wintery forest as flurries periodically burst forth from the sky. In mossy tufts along the trailside I found copious amounts of trailing arbutus (Epigaea repens). The evergreen leaves of this member of the Heath family can be steeped in hot water for an astringent tea rich in arbutin. Arbutin - also found in cranberries - prevents the adherence of bacteria to the urinary tract lining. Therefore sip this tea to prevent or relieve a urinary tract infection. Trailing arbutus shared its space with fellow medicinal family member wintergreen (Gaultheria procumbens). Wintergreen's leaves contain methyl-salicylic acid, which acts as an analgesic and anti-inflammatory, and boasts a bright red minty-tasting berry.

Mountain pool

About three miles in, the trail led us downhill into the belly of the forest and we came upon an icy pool, likely formed by a depression and drainage. However the rocks, blanketed in lichen and moss, made for a perfect seat while I enjoyed some trail mix and Amos, some chicken strips. After pawing at the ice, Amos was pleased to discover he could get some cold mountain water from here too. I imagine this pool is home to peepers in the spring as well as many a mosquito. This was the perfect time to appreciate it.

Headed south on AT along Kittatinny Ridge

 After winding uphill, following the sloping contour of the mountain, we emerged at another high knob on the ridge, similar to the first but far more expansive. At this moment, I had the thought I could be on the balds of North Carolina or Virginia. I could be anywhere. I was, in an instant, transported but at the same time, so very present, so very here, on this beautiful mountain top. Blonde grasses spread out like a blanket and gray rocks lined our path, as we approached three pitch pines straight ahead. To our right, the view just kept on going as the wind gusted and the clouds rolled away.

AT on Kittatinny Ridge - notice the white blazes

AT on Kittatinny Ridge when the sun appeared

AT on Kittatinny Ridge, clouds casting shadows

Speaking of pitch pine (Pinus rigida), it too was in the process of some slow growth. Squat cones with sharp scales hung from its resinous twigs. Cones take two years to mature and spread seed and these were still hanging on, closed tight, waiting for their time. Needles from pitch pine, like white pine (Pinus strobus), contain vitamin C and convey anti-microbial and expectorant properties, when infused in hot water. True to pitch pine form, these needles not only sprung from twig tips and branches, sprayed from the trunk of the tree.

Pitch pine cone (Pinus rigida)

From where we stood, we weren't too far from the summit of Rattlesnake Mountain, but with dusk soon approaching on this winter's day, it was time to turn back. We had roughly 4 miles to go before we would return to the parking area.

Amos looking down the trail

Amos was moving fast, eager for home as he followed the scent of the tracks we had laid. But still, I periodically slowed our speedy return to admire more lichen and the few plants we found growing in the thin dirt atop large boulders and beneath the shelter of towering trees.

Common polypody (Polypodium virginianum)

Common polypody fern (Polypodium virginianum) grew in green sprays, providing an offering of green life. Notice the opposite lobes of this fern are not truly opposite but somewhat asymmetrical, which is typical of this fern. Flipping over a frond, I found rusty colored sori, which hold the dust-sized spores called sporangia. Spores are normally released in autumn and carried by the wind or unwittingly, on the fur of a passing critter. Considering our season, the spores of this fern were probably long dispersed, but it was a pleasure to see its orderly arrangement nonetheless.

Hickory nuts (Carya)

Decaying hickory nuts and further down the trail, acorns sometimes rolled under our feet like marbles and this coupled with the rocky trail, resulted in a couple of spills. I am certain Amos tugging the way home had something to do with this. But to tell you the truth, sometimes making sudden contact with the very solid earth - a jolting thud! - can be strangely satisfying. A reminder of our earthly bodies when we are all up in our heads. Did I mention hickory nuts are related to the pecan and quite tasty when in season. Acorns too. But these were long overdue.

Overlook on Kittatinny Ridge, just south of Culver's Gap

Before I knew it, we were back to the overlook above Culver's Lake and it was all downhill from here. I heard a red-tailed hawk cry out and gazed overhead to see his silhouette cruising the breeze. I watched him until I could see him no more and he called out again. The late day sun now shone bright and with all the miles we'd hiked, we were toasty warm despite temps in the thirties. My muscles ached a bit - I guess I'm not 25 years old hiking the AT anymore - and even Amos had slowed his pace. But it was a good kind of ache and my spirits were brighter. Sometimes we need a reminder of the slow growth that is always at work and subtle beauty of which we too are a part.

I started writing this post before our cherished Frannie passed away. She died on February 12, 2020, about five days after this hike on the Kittatinny Ridge. Our last days with her were indeed a gift of subtle beauty and on our parts, reluctant slow growth. We are better for it and so thankful to have been here with her until the end. Her journey and our own now continue...