It was about this time roughly six years ago that I first got the idea to write a nature column. My initial inspiration was a record of sorts that I’d kept for awhile when I lived in Lyman near Swan Pond. As so often happens with journal-keeping, however, I stopped adding to it, and eventually forgot where I’d put it.

But I needn’t have worried, because nature kept me so well-supplied with writing material that the idea of it became moot to the point where the column itself became my journal, one that I would keep faithfully for the next several years.

Through those years, I would leave Lyman, spend about a year in Springvale, then move back to Lyman, but this time, to a vastly different spot actually overlooking a pond called Wadleigh. The three years I spent there were, by far, the most rewarding and fulfilling that a nature writer could ever hope to have in the form of dense woods, open water, and wildlife galore.

From my window overlooking the pond, I thrilled to the sight and sound of Canada geese taking flight and ushering their young in the spring to more protected areas, mallard ducks paddling back and forth all day long, bank swallows skimming the pond’s surface, and kingfishers diving down from the overhanging trees.

From late spring to mid-fall, I often lay awake late at night listening to the mournful call of the loons as they spoke to each across vast expanses of star-speckled water and the hooting of owls from the deeper darker reaches.

Birds of every feather literally flocked to the feeders I kept out on my deck, while larger species such as great blue herons, Cooper’s hawks, ravens, ospreys and bald eagles cast wide shadows across the earth as they flew by. I was often visited by deer, foxes, and raccoons, and sometimes heard coyotes howling from the deep woods.

And if that weren’t enough, the sight of a full moon throwing its silvered voice across the pond at 3 a.m. or a sunset dyeing the western sky pink and purple in November never failed to rob me of words adequate enough to describe these events.  

Now, I am in Saco in a place that itself is a gift of sorts and that defies categorization as far as the type of environment it is. For here, I have the best of all worlds: dense solid woods behind me with turkeys flocking around my front door, while being close enough to the downtown to be able to walk there.

Here, I’ve seen Cooper’s hawks, pileated woodpeckers, foxes, raccoons and, of course, our resident flock of turkeys whose males puff out jauntily every chance they get. Even here, where one would assume the inspiration limited, it never was. 

But as all things in life, this, too, came to an end when I decided it was time to shift my focus elsewhere so as not to become redundant, which I was perilously close to doing. I wanted to terminate the column while my material was still fresh and original, not grown stale and repetitious, but it was not without a great deal of thought and some regret that I did that.

It finally occurred to me that, if I was to keep the spirit of the column alive, I’d have to do it another way, and that’s when I came up with the idea to self-publish a small collection of the essays that had appeared there through the years. Organized by seasons, the stories are accompanied by full-color images that often served as my inspiration. 

But more importantly, my goal with the book is to remind readers of the importance of nature and of the role she continues to play in our lives. Especially now, in these trying times, it is more crucial than ever that we remember where we came from and how nature’s powerful forces continue to assure our very survival. 

For only when we step from the daily realities of our lives into the sacred silence of a deep wood or experience the peaceful hiss of ocean waves along the shore can we achieve true peace as only nature can provide. We needn’t travel far to see her at work. She is visible, not only in the more obvious places, but in the less noticed, in the tumbles of weeds and the tiny patches of forgotten soil that dot the landscapes of our lives.

Wherever she is, we are also, and she is just waiting for us all to discover and appreciate her. 

*****

My first collection of essays, “From the Urban Wilderness: Life In the Southern Maine Woods,” is currently available in paperback or Kindle format at the following link: 

https://www.amazon.com/Rachel-Lovejoy/e/B00JJ259DS

Thank you to my faithful readers for accompanying me on this wondrous journey.