“We abuse land because we regard it as a commodity belonging to us. When we see land as a community to which we belong, we may begin to use it with love and respect.”  — Aldo Leopold, “A Sand County Almanac”

It was with great dismay and sadness that I came upon a vernal pool and a small bog near Deering Pond in Sanford the other day while walking there. Not that long ago, they were as nature’s trinkets, rhinestones set into the landscape, glistening with the melted remnants of the past winter, cutting a pleasing swath through that remote place. Now, both bear the marks of a type of destruction only possible by inconsiderate people on all-terrain vehicles ”“ better known as ATVs or four-wheelers.

My grandson was with me that day, and as we approached the spot, I marveled at how the sunlight had turned the ground a rosy pink as it passed through the reddening leaves of surrounding maples. As I got out my camera to take a few shots, my spirit quickly fell and I gasped to see the ruts in the rich, dark-brown ”“ almost black ”“ peat and ancient leaf mold that forms the floor of such landlocked bodies of water, gashes more than a foot deep in spots and going every which way. The riders had done a superb job of tearing both areas up so thoroughly that it is now impossible to see where the water formerly flowed. The water in the bog had originally split off into two streams around a tiny island and converged again near the trail. No such thing exists now, other than deep curving ruts. It is clear to me that it will be impossible to restore both to their former beauty.

Any repairs or reconstruction will have to be left up to nature, which will, of course, intervene at some point. If the area is left alone from here on out, water from snow melt, spring run-off and heavy rain storms may be able to reshape these wet areas into something resembling their former magnificence. But as it stands now, the smaller vernal pool is nearly unrecognizable, the bog a mucky mess, and I stood there for a few moments mourning their demise.

My grandson commented on how rich the soil is there, and he conjectured that it would be good for gardens. I replied that the thick, rich, black substance took years to form, with its density due in part to the billions of tiny roots from the myriad plants that grow near bogs and that connect to form an intricate network. It is, as yet, as fragile as a spider’s web when invaded and ripped apart by thick-treaded, rubber tires spinning wildly out of control.

Before leaving, I took a few photos in the event that whoever oversees these lands might be interested in having a visual record of the damage. I stood there awhile longer, pondering the reality of vernal pools and bogs, how long they are in the making and how vital a part of the ecology they are. Vernal pools attain their status as small, isolated bodies of water that are generally not fed by a larger source such as a stream, lake, pond or river. The small depressions in the ground fill with rain or winter run-off, and their tightly formed bottom layers hold the water in long enough to attract species such as frogs, newts, water snakes and salamanders that live out their entire reproductive lives in or near the water before it evaporates. As the summer heat increases, most vernal pools dry out but remain spongy.

During particularly warm, dry summers, they can dry out completely, retaining little of their former grandeur when filled with rain or snow melt in the spring. A vernal pool serves other purposes as well, not the least of which is providing a drinking hole for larger creatures and sources of insect food for birds that nest in nearby trees and shrubs.

Bogs behave much the same way, but due to the incredible capacity of the peat to retain water, remain spongy for longer periods of time and often maintain some level of water from whatever source feeds them. Neither body of water stays dry very long following a snowy or rainy winter or an equally wet summer. And it is this environment that provides a home for so many creatures that are quickly displaced if anything happens to their small world.

My hope is that nature does intervene and quickly to repair the damage done by individuals who are either ignorant of the consequences of their actions or simply do not care. It’s sad to think that, in this day and age, at a time when the boundaries between what’s right and wrong are themselves seriously blurred, that either could be entirely possible. My faith in nature, however, is not diminished, as I continue to trust her unfailing perseverance in the face of this and other forces from which she continues to so valiantly recover.

— Rachel Lovejoy, a freelance writer living in Springvale, who enjoys exploring the woods of southern Maine, can be reached via email at rachell1950@metrocast.net.