The Other Side of the River

by Lynne Bittner...............................July 1, 2003

Next came hot July, boyling like to fire,

That all his garments he had cast away;

Vpon a Lyon raging yet with ire He boldly rode,

and made him to obeye;

Behinde his back a sithe,

and by his side Vnder his belt he wore a sickle circling wide.

Edmund Spenser- The Faerie Queene

Summer has arrived with no apology. A cool and wet spring transitioned into a sweltering summer literally overnight. The daytime temperature has soared to the 90’s...

Sitting outside with my morning coffee, I watch the rosy shimmer of sunrise as it flashes on the breast of a swallow as she flies overhead. The sounds of the morning meadow are in full chorus: chickadees, robins, blue-jays, catbirds, warblers, cardinals, red winged blackbirds, the flutey song of the wood thrush...crickets thrumming, the gentle clucking of my chickens as they forage nearby, the sporadic punctuation of a crow. In the background there is the ever present sound of a mountain stream that races down the north facing hill on the opposite bank of the Batten Kill.

There is a culvert that runs under the railroad tracks. The entrance is a dark stone archway set in the steep north facing slope. Several years ago on a hot summer’s day I ventured over there. Dark pink flowers of the purple flowering raspberries were luminous in the deep shade of the river bank, their large green maple shaped leaves shrouded the dark entryway. Blue forget-me-nots grew in abundance between the rocks near the tunnel’s entrance, and various ferns grew thickly to either side. I was reminded of the many streams I’d forged as a child. The excitement of perhaps finding a salamander or turtle swelled in my chest - surprising me.

My steps clouded the clear water and shiny bits of mica glimmered in the stirred up silt of the stream bed as I entered the tunnel. A chimney swift’s nest was parged to the inside wall about ten feet inside the entrance with five tiny white eggs within. I had to nerve myself to continue moving forward. Afraid of bats or who knew what else coming at me in the darkness, I kept my arms tightly close to my sides. My eyes sharply focused on the dim green glowing arch of light at the end of the tunnel. Each step forward splashed noisily, disrupting the otherwise steady current whose sound reverberated off the walls like music before it tumbled out of the tunnel and mixed with the lazy tepid waters of the Batten Kill.

Almost to the end, I could see that the stream came from around a bend. Making my way over the last few slippery boulders that had been washed into the mouth of the tunnel, I found myself at the bottom of a steep ravine with some rather large boulders and ferns lining the sides of the mountain stream. The temperature was at least 10 degrees cooler and densely shaded by tall hemlocks. I spotted several small communities of trillium and black cohosh their black - blue berries ripe.

How wondrous this earth, and the generosity of her gifts - unconditional and constant as this spring fed mountain stream.

Purple Flowering Raspberries

Forget-Me-Nots

Railroad Culvert. Battenkill Railroad