Tamed Wild
By: Darrell Vincent
"Nature will bear the closest inspection. She invites us to lay our eye level with her smallest leaf, and take an insect view of its plain."
Henry David Thoreau
In today’s fast moving, revved –up society a person has little time to relax and enjoy nature’s rustic surroundings and fewer places where it’s possible. The natural wild is not so wild anymore, but the beauty in the tamed wild still remains.
Cool nights step aside to warmer days, this means one thing to Minnesota’s ecological structure: its’ time for new life to emerge. Each year for the past twelve, I return to the Altura/Whitewater area in Southern Minnesota. The area is a sanctuary highlighted by jagged ledges, deep valleys, and pristine streams, which are uncharacteristic of farm and prairie land surrounding it.
Traveling south on highway 52 with farmland in all directions, there is gentleness to the rolling hills, their smoothness reveals no sharp peaks or rocky ledges. One huge field after another, with visible signs of little green stubble emerging from the fertile soil; showing off their coming attractions.
Turning east onto highway 247, the topography remains similar with one exception; several sharply peaked mounds rise from the flattened earth. The road begins its’ windy decent leading me deeper into the shadows of the valley. Solid limestone walls on both sides become visible. One could only imagine the tons of dynamite and countless man-hours involved in burrowing a pass through this section of the mountain. Weather beaten faces of the walls show shades from dark to light, in descending order, holding stories of decades gone by,stories held in decaying matter between each layer.
Woodlands and wetlands emerge as sharp bends in the road bring me closer to the valley’s bottom. Mountains frame the valley with their brutally steep rise towards the bold blue sky.Lining the mountainsides are elms, maples and oaks whose buds are popping, showing their first signs of life, as last year’s lies at the bottom of their trunks. The oaks are enormous and gnarly, with twisted branches growing in all directions. A tunnel of trees shades the narrowing dirt road as it proceeds, hugging the bottom of the mountain. The valley’s flatland begins to widen, and to the east a glimmering stream is my guide to road’s end.
Nature unveiled
heightening her sense of place
best we lend an ear
(Haiku/Vincent 2006)
My heart rate slows as I realize I’m the only human here, me intruding on nature, far from the intertwined chaos of city life. A gentle breeze welcomes me as I step from my truck. I hear what sounds like voices as the breeze blows through the twisted branches of the trees, or is it sounds of city life that remain in my ears?
Perched on the treetops, cardinals are chattering flirtatiously with each other. Toms are gobbling, as well as the return clucking of hens; looking for some companionship after a long cold winter. From one hillside a mourning dove is cooing, which is answered by another from the opposite hillside. A bluebird snatches a moth out of the air. His deep blue, almost purple of his upper body, which enhances the deep red and pure whiteness of its breast, enamors me. These are sights and sound different then the streets of rowed houses and never-ending traffic hum I left behind.
Wildflowers blaze
brightening the sleeping land
well are we to see
(Haiku/Vincent 2006)
Minnesota’s wildflowers are in full bloom as I meander towards the stream to investigate how the spring thaw has altered its flow. Patches of Bloodroot are revealing white with deep yellow stems, when broken in half a deep red juice flows. Dutchman's breeches are showing their lacy leaves. The blossoms are white and odorless and can be described as looking similar to a mini pair of pants hanging from a long stem. Violets, which have 5 very small, dainty petals, blue and violet whose flower stalks are separate from the leaves. These are all pleasing sights since vegetation hasn’t yet broken through months of deposited salt and sand of a long winter in the city.
I use the utmost care while approaching the stream’s bank, so I don’t alarm the trout that may be lurking near the edge. Trout, as do all fish, have a lateral line running along the length of their bodies consisting of many nerve endings helping a fish sense vibration in the water. A fish can determine the speed, direction, or even the size of a predator or its prey. Thus if you go thundering to the bank, the vibrations are transmitted from land to water, alerting them of danger.
The babbling and gurgling intensifies the closer I get. As I peek over the bank I notice the swiftness of the stream’s current and its clarity. Lush green vegetation growing from the stream’s bottom creates a safe haven for nymphs undergoing metamorphosis on their way to adulthood. Several rainbow trout are prowling the stream’s bottom in search of their next meal, revealing flashes of reds, blues, and browns, as they dart about.
Retreating slowly several feet, I sit on a fallen tree whose life was terminated by a windstorm, or perhaps, just old age. Looking upstream, sparkling reflections are created as the rapids flow over an assortment of colorful rocks and grabs my attention. The rapids produce a clump of foamy bubbles, and I stare as they bounce with the current towards an undercut in the bank, and then follow them as they flow towards an eddy. From a pool just beyond the eddy, a trout is gently sucking the surface inhaling a small insect. The devouring of small insects is just a small part of a complex food chain, which must take place in order for those higher on the food pyramid, to survive.
That is where I fit into the food chain; I grab my rod, don my waders and pursue the trout that just consumed the insect.
Wild is not so wild
those before have seen real wild
we only have thier words
(Haiku/Vincent 2006)
By: Darrell Vincent
"Nature will bear the closest inspection. She invites us to lay our eye level with her smallest leaf, and take an insect view of its plain."
Henry David Thoreau
In today’s fast moving, revved –up society a person has little time to relax and enjoy nature’s rustic surroundings and fewer places where it’s possible. The natural wild is not so wild anymore, but the beauty in the tamed wild still remains.
Cool nights step aside to warmer days, this means one thing to Minnesota’s ecological structure: its’ time for new life to emerge. Each year for the past twelve, I return to the Altura/Whitewater area in Southern Minnesota. The area is a sanctuary highlighted by jagged ledges, deep valleys, and pristine streams, which are uncharacteristic of farm and prairie land surrounding it.
Traveling south on highway 52 with farmland in all directions, there is gentleness to the rolling hills, their smoothness reveals no sharp peaks or rocky ledges. One huge field after another, with visible signs of little green stubble emerging from the fertile soil; showing off their coming attractions.
Turning east onto highway 247, the topography remains similar with one exception; several sharply peaked mounds rise from the flattened earth. The road begins its’ windy decent leading me deeper into the shadows of the valley. Solid limestone walls on both sides become visible. One could only imagine the tons of dynamite and countless man-hours involved in burrowing a pass through this section of the mountain. Weather beaten faces of the walls show shades from dark to light, in descending order, holding stories of decades gone by,stories held in decaying matter between each layer.
Woodlands and wetlands emerge as sharp bends in the road bring me closer to the valley’s bottom. Mountains frame the valley with their brutally steep rise towards the bold blue sky.Lining the mountainsides are elms, maples and oaks whose buds are popping, showing their first signs of life, as last year’s lies at the bottom of their trunks. The oaks are enormous and gnarly, with twisted branches growing in all directions. A tunnel of trees shades the narrowing dirt road as it proceeds, hugging the bottom of the mountain. The valley’s flatland begins to widen, and to the east a glimmering stream is my guide to road’s end.
Nature unveiled
heightening her sense of place
best we lend an ear
(Haiku/Vincent 2006)
My heart rate slows as I realize I’m the only human here, me intruding on nature, far from the intertwined chaos of city life. A gentle breeze welcomes me as I step from my truck. I hear what sounds like voices as the breeze blows through the twisted branches of the trees, or is it sounds of city life that remain in my ears?
Perched on the treetops, cardinals are chattering flirtatiously with each other. Toms are gobbling, as well as the return clucking of hens; looking for some companionship after a long cold winter. From one hillside a mourning dove is cooing, which is answered by another from the opposite hillside. A bluebird snatches a moth out of the air. His deep blue, almost purple of his upper body, which enhances the deep red and pure whiteness of its breast, enamors me. These are sights and sound different then the streets of rowed houses and never-ending traffic hum I left behind.
Wildflowers blaze
brightening the sleeping land
well are we to see
(Haiku/Vincent 2006)
Minnesota’s wildflowers are in full bloom as I meander towards the stream to investigate how the spring thaw has altered its flow. Patches of Bloodroot are revealing white with deep yellow stems, when broken in half a deep red juice flows. Dutchman's breeches are showing their lacy leaves. The blossoms are white and odorless and can be described as looking similar to a mini pair of pants hanging from a long stem. Violets, which have 5 very small, dainty petals, blue and violet whose flower stalks are separate from the leaves. These are all pleasing sights since vegetation hasn’t yet broken through months of deposited salt and sand of a long winter in the city.
I use the utmost care while approaching the stream’s bank, so I don’t alarm the trout that may be lurking near the edge. Trout, as do all fish, have a lateral line running along the length of their bodies consisting of many nerve endings helping a fish sense vibration in the water. A fish can determine the speed, direction, or even the size of a predator or its prey. Thus if you go thundering to the bank, the vibrations are transmitted from land to water, alerting them of danger.
The babbling and gurgling intensifies the closer I get. As I peek over the bank I notice the swiftness of the stream’s current and its clarity. Lush green vegetation growing from the stream’s bottom creates a safe haven for nymphs undergoing metamorphosis on their way to adulthood. Several rainbow trout are prowling the stream’s bottom in search of their next meal, revealing flashes of reds, blues, and browns, as they dart about.
Retreating slowly several feet, I sit on a fallen tree whose life was terminated by a windstorm, or perhaps, just old age. Looking upstream, sparkling reflections are created as the rapids flow over an assortment of colorful rocks and grabs my attention. The rapids produce a clump of foamy bubbles, and I stare as they bounce with the current towards an undercut in the bank, and then follow them as they flow towards an eddy. From a pool just beyond the eddy, a trout is gently sucking the surface inhaling a small insect. The devouring of small insects is just a small part of a complex food chain, which must take place in order for those higher on the food pyramid, to survive.
That is where I fit into the food chain; I grab my rod, don my waders and pursue the trout that just consumed the insect.
Wild is not so wild
those before have seen real wild
we only have thier words
(Haiku/Vincent 2006)
