Remembering where the journey started: The nation's 500th National Wildlife Refuge

This morning I thought it would be good to remember how I wound up here in the Canaan Valley in the first place. It was October of last year, and I stopped to walk this boardwalk around a small part of the national wildlife refuge, where the mighty Blackwater River that gushes at Blackwater Falls and cuts a deep gorge through the mountains sort of fans out and creates the largest wetland east of the Mississippi. There are countless trails to explore by foot, X-country skis, bicycle, horse or what have you; but I started here. Somehow it was reminiscent of the tidal flats on parts of the Cape.
This morning I could see raptors soaring, heard a sound that may have been spring peepers, and felt the first stirrings of spring down in the valley.

I looked up at the mountains, then down into the little streams and pools of water where new life is teeming and pondered my new life here, in this wondrous place where nature still dominates, where we are under no illusion that man is in charge. And I felt that old, familiar urge to learn more about every bit of flora and fauna here so that I can figure out my place in the master jigsaw puzzle of life.


On my way out, I looked over at White Grass, now devoid of any snow, waiting for next winter and for the earth to turn once more. Then I stopped to look at the notices on the bulletin board and saw that the refuge is offering a "master naturalist" program, beginning mid-April. Seems like the perfect place to start, doesn't it? For how can I write about nature if I don't know how what I see is connected, what it is, and how each piece fits to make a whole? It felt as though the refuge was taking me in like a tired stranger and inviting me to sit and stay a while.