Flower Hill Farm Forest
Our forest is a destination offering cool shade in the growing season. In the winter, tall trunks and limbs groan and sign . . . charcoal lines reaching towards the sky. I walk down into the lower garden and through the apple gateway into the blueberry field to reach the forest edge. Then, entering the woods of Flower Hill Farm I am awash with awareness and all my senses alert and alive. Wildflowers carpet the leafy humus floor. Stands of White Pine create a grove and nearby stately beech, oak, ash and maple create a ceiling of green and in autumn golden and red leaves float overhead. Vernal streams splash over moss coated rocks and dreams and peace fill my mind. I step over several rivulets as a female Broad-winged Hawk looks on. An Ovenbird sings his chorus over and over above old stonewalls that marked where cows once pastured. Though not an old growth forest, it is a charmed world I should like to visit more often.