This little refuge is about a mile from my home, and is a wetland grotto right in the middle of the city. On one side of it there is a freeway overpass, where the traffic surges by at frantic speeds. On the other two sides of it are busy city streets with four lanes of bustling, noisy traffic. One would not think that a few hills and forest, some spongy wetlands with wood ducks and red-winged blackbirds, and a cement trail would be nestled in all this urban clutter. But, someone thought to preserve it, and should you walk far enough along the trail, with its wooden markers pointing out tree specimens, you will find that even here there is the opportunity to observe and wonder.Quite a few cars in the adjacent parking lot indicated that others thought this was a neat little place too, for an hour's repast. I noticed a father and his son gathering information about trees, with a school paper at hand, to be filled out by the student. Patiently, they turned leaves over and examined berries, in hushed voices, and placed a few specimens in a bag. Another couple walked by, she still in her nursing uniform. I suspect she was on her lunch break, mid-day, and that he was her husband, coming to escort her away for a pleasant interlude. Park Rose Care Center is across the street, and when I worked there, I sometimes did this very thing to get a breath of fresh air on my break.
Since the nature preserve is small it discouraged one man who came wearing hiking boots and carrying a large backpack. He was walking ahead of me, starting briskly, perhaps hoping for some adventure. But, within a few blocks he turned back. This place was too small. At the entrance of the preserve I noticed an old woman sitting on a park bench while holding her small dog. Since pets are not allowed on the trail, she could only sit there at the entrance, and enjoy the sunshine. She had a sack lunch, and was content just to watch the visitors arrive and enter the forest, then return from their excursion. Mothers came with children and babies in strollers. A few high school boys jostled noisily through, and I came with my camera. The old woman seemed quite at home, enjoying this remote companionability.
It was not a good time to photo- graph anything. The light was too brilliant, so I focused my eyes downward, toward the leaves covering the trail. Walk far enough, and the cement turns to hardpacked dirt and pine needles, then a trail through the forest. All the deep shades of color have now washed out and dried up. Under my feet there was the crunch of dry leaves, then a wisp of dust. At the little pond dust lay in a film across the water, and all the aquatic plants were brown and soggy. Even the vegetation along the pond's edge was crisp and brittle.I walked along an old bridge across the pond. Metal pipes were braced against the left side, holding the walking platform level. The posts were undergoing repairs, and plywood covered rotting boards.
At one end of the nature preserve the highway was under repair, and sandbags and tarps had attempted to divert a portion of the little stream creating the pond. I thought how abrupt and unsightly all these modifications were, quite a nuisance and out of touch with the natural flow of things.I wonder how Snake Lake will look in the spring. Will the repairs be completed? Will the wood ducks and mallards return? Will the old woman sit by the entrance with her dog, and enjoy watching the enthusiasm of the children walking the pathways? I walked home, and since the day was so beautiful, I worked outside in my garden, pulling up the remainder of my tomato plants and composting the spent dahlias. It is the end of the growing season, and already I wonder about spring.
