Watching a nor'easter on top of a hill
Storms as social distancing, Rep. Haaland for Interior Secretary, and plant of the week
I decided the best place to see the nor’easter — not yesterday’s one with snow but the previous one with rain — was the top of a hill. The storm arrived on a Saturday, one of the only times for longer walks, and I didn’t want the weather to change that.
Through the downpour, I drove to the center of the large Blue Hills State Reservation near Quincy, at one point trying to push my windshield wipers to a higher notch and finding that there wasn’t one. The east and west end parking lots and the pond to the south gain the most visitors, but if you park near Chickatawbut Hill in the north-central area, you’re already at altitude with some of the reservation’s larger hills as well as away from bigger crowds. Even in the middle of a storm, I wasn’t the only car at the spot, though.
I’m not usually opposed to seeing other people on the trail, but this was one of those days — perhaps encouraged by the storm — where I wanted to keep to myself. And anyway, we’re supposed to be keeping our distance from each other. Rain is just another means to that end.
I was there a little before the peak of the wind, which was probably for the best, but the heavy rain had flooded the granite-lined trails, turning them into montane streams and pools. I splashed through in waterproof boots. The day soon taught me one thing that has since proved useful — while wet granite covered with lichen can make you slip and fall, bare granite retains its traction for boots even when wet. I climbed up short pseudo-waterfalls and descended scree slopes with this new lesson. Apparently I hadn’t seen enough granite in the Midwest to learn this before.
“Blow, blow, thou winter wind, / Thou art not so unkind / As man’s ingratitude” — this Shakespeare passage came to mind from a song I heard in high school at a holiday concert. I remembered “contempt” instead of “ingratitude.” I also thought it was from King Lear, but it turns out it’s from the comedy As You Like It. I imagine the speaker (who is apparently not the tormented King Lear but possibly just an unknowingly comic figure like myself) wandering through a winter forest, working out some feelings.
There’s something kind of punk rock about witnessing wind and rain lashing a forest around you — in the way that punk rock channels fury into art. I could be adjacent to danger while basically safe. The wind bending the pines had a much more emphatic way of expressing itself than me.
I scrambled up one hill, reaching a grassy glade, which had turned a darker shade like a wet dog. Back down to the saddle trail and around a couple walking an actual wet dog. The thick fog caused me to think I was approaching a large building — it turned out to be a dark cliff.
I don’t pretend to be invulnerable to the elements — I know all too well I’m not. Sometimes I imagine I have hit-points, like a character in a video game. Stepping in a deep puddle and overtopping a boot loses hit-points. The gradually building dampness of a water-resistant jacket causes a slow drip of hit-points. I turned around when I estimated 55% loss of hit-points (it was probably more.)
What stands out, remembering this walk now, was the extraordinary quality of light: diffuse and bright everywhere, as if the forest was lit by a UV lamp from the side as well as above. That and the quiet in the understory: the way the wind barely reached the pine saplings on the forest floor, despite the chaos above.
Rep. Deb Haaland to become Interior Secretary
The Biden administration has chosen Rep. Deb Haaland for Interior Secretary. Haaland, from the Pueblos of Laguna and Jemez, will become the first Native American cabinet member. Given that the Department of the Interior oversees federal relations with Native American nations and administers millions of acres of land, the pick goes beyond symbolism, particularly in the context of a historic push to return lands to Indigenous peoples. Haaland also has a record of pushing for strong action on climate change as a co-sponsor of the Green New Deal and an anti-fracking advocate.
Plant of the week: Pitch pine
Though this pitch pine (Pinus rigida) is just a sapling, the species excels at surviving in harsh environments like this exposed slope in the Blue Hills. Distinguished from white pine by its brighter green color and shorter, closer-packed needles, mature pitch pines often take on dramatic arching shapes compared to the rigid straightness of a typical white pine. They seem to grow with the wind rather than in spite of it.
In sandy landscapes such as Cape Cod (above), pitch pine succeeds where few other trees can. Thick resin (“pitch”) protects wounds in the bark. The species has a bond with fire, which can stimulate a burst of new growth and even cause some resin-bound cones to pop open and release their seeds.
In pitch pine, I see reflections of the ecology of bur oak (Quercus macrocarpa), the fire-resistant oak of Midwestern savannas. Finding deeper appreciation for somewhat monotonous northeastern white pine forests has been a slow process for me, but it’s hard not to instantly admire the sculpted shapes and weather-hardiness of pitch pines.
Questions or comments? Send it to the mailbag: possum.notes.substack@gmail.com
Possum Notes is a weekly newsletter about wildlife and landscapes around where I live. It’s produced on occupied Massachusett and Wampanoag land.