Mandala in the Woods
My wife and I walk in the woods and fields when we can. We always bring a camera. We used to go here and there but we have settled on one place.
Punkatasset Hill, by introduction, is a part of a large tract of public and private land in Concord, Massachusetts, called Estabrook Woods. Trails twist thru a range of habitats, from wetlands to forest to open fields. We usually confine ourselves to a one mile lap that circles a small pond. It may seem that we are in a rut, but we have found that every time we visit, we discover something new.
I have come to regard the pond and the circle we make around it as a mandala.
The word mandala derives from the Sanskrit for circle. Mandalas from such diverse cultures as Tibetan Buddhist and Native Americans make mandalas as representations of the world. By their nature, mandalas suggest both a macrocosmic view—the mandala as a whole—and microcosmic, by way of discrete detail. These mandalas enclose the elements that form the aggregate of experience. Hutchins Pond, central in our walks, constitutes the center of our walking mandala. We witness in our walks small details as well as the myriad interconnections of the ecological event called Estabrook Woods.
The entrance to Punkatasset Hill adverts little. You enter by a right of way between two houses. Only as you step in a ways does it look like you enter public land.
The trail head offers left and right paths. We almost always go right, the counter-clockwise route. Down a wooded path that opens to a sloping field to the left. To the right is a fenced-in field, privately-owned, where prize cattle have grazed, albeit not recently. The pond can be glimpsed from here, even through the flush vestiture of foliage.
As we near the pond we reenter a wooded area. A bench honours someone who enjoyed the pond. The view refreshes.
Much of the pond has a marshy edge but here a sort of beach invites one to the water’s edge. A now-abandoned beaver hutch built around a tree looks derelict. A couple of years ago it was active. We walked late one day, the sun going down, and saw several beavers swimming around the pond. Our approach of the hutch caused them to slap the water with their tails. This warning had its effect on me, it played an ominous sound. A beaver came close as I stood near the hutch. I could imagine it bursting from the water in defense of its hutch.
Further on is a culvert that releases water from the pond to a spillway on the other side of the path, Sawmill Brook. The stream rolls off into the woods, thence to the Concord River. Evidence of beaver engineering can be seen.
The path returns to the woods. This area looks like a lumber camp. Beavers have taken down many trees. Large trees, as much as two feet across. Humans with saws keep the path clear but they don’t remove the fallen trees.
Further on the view of the pond opens up. A blue heron can routinely be seen near the shore across the way. It senses our approach early. I have yet to get a decent picture of it in flight. It takes wing while I fumble with the camera.
A rocky run spills water into the pond during the wet season. Ferns and marshy growth in this section.
A wider path, more like a road (to Carlisle), passes through what’s called the Turtle Pond. A few years ago we discovered a dead beaver on the short causeway that splices Turtle Pond. It appeared to be young, had no visible injury. In fact, it was still wet.
The path then enters a pine woods. A flock of lady’s slippers in the spring. The sudden appearance of mushrooms later in the year.
A former ski slope still remains cleared. The slope is steep but affords a downhill run of maybe fifty yards. Supposedly the Norwegian Ski Team trained here back in the 20s, so the claim goes.
The path climbs upwards to the trail head, mostly through piney shade.
As the year runs its course, the pond freezes, receives a snow cover, ripples with the breezes, fills with lily pads, invites beavers, waterfowl, dogs and people. Plants flower and foliate, drop leaves, go quiet.
We see what we are open to seeing. An abundance of mushrooms appear when we are receptive, or snakes in the sun. Creative openness. The camera documents the process but its products aren’t our goal. We just try to be where we are and see where we are.