Graphics by MamaBear
Beautiful, Amy. Love Carl Sandburg!
That poem by Robert Frost is so TYPICAL of the places where Penny and I take our hikes. The forests, which seem so wild and untracked, are crisscrossed by ancient stone walls, some going back to Colonial Times, when these woods were clear-cut to build ships, and the land used for farming.
The bubbly crystal streams were once choked up by these same rocks and used to power foundries and mills during the Industrial Revolution, then freed up again as the old factories were torn down.
The the suburbs took over, with the desire for more “green space”, and secondary forests grew up from the farmland, and the resulting maples, birches, beeches, and smaller shrubs filled in the space.
And now Penny and I walk there, and find our way by looking for the ancient, moss-covered, Colonial Farmers’ Stone Walls.