Nature ride

I feel fortunate to live where I do in Connecticut near the New York border. If I hop on my bike, which I do often, I can find myself in bucolic North Salem, N.Y., within 10 minutes. Beyond the famous residents such as David Letterman and expansive mansions and horse farms, lies a pristine land that is crisscrossed  by unpaved roads. It doesn’t seem possible that Gotham with its millions of residents and gleaming towers is less than 50 miles to the south.

The crunch of gravel underneath my bike tires is the dominant noise as I traverse my riding circuit. There is much beauty in my daily rides but it is when I stop to rest on the side of the road that I have the chance to appreciate the innate beauty of the area. The unimproved road splits large rolling fields that could be found in an Andrew Wyeth painting. A slight breeze bends the tops of the grasses, which have just started to set seed. The sides of the road are lined with black cherry (Prunus serotina), maple (Acer) and ash (Fraxinus) trees. Pin oaks (Quercus palustris) have been planted in anticipation of the demise of the ashes. Unlike the other trees, whose shadows create dense shade, the ashes’ shadows are skeletons portending their future. The flowers of chicory (Cichorium intybus) appear as light blue ribbons lining the road with occasional yellow spikes of mullein (Verbascum thapsus) flowers shooting high above the grassy soil. Buttercups (Ranunculus acris) are sprinkled around in patches of yellow amongst the dandelions (Taraxacum officinale) and red clover (Trifolium pratense.) The umbrella-shaped white flowers of Queen Anne’s lace (Daucus carota) stand tall waiting for pollinators.

The stone walls that line the road  host strands of Virginia creeper (Parthenocissus quinquefolia) and poison ivy (Toxicodendron radicans) that fight for dominance and look to cover the rocks they  embrace. Swallows fly erratically and chirp following the insects they are attempting to catch. Though most insects cannot be seen, their chorus is the loudest noise that I now hear.  Grasshoppers jump in a frenetic hop scotch pattern over the fields. Bees and wasps fly near, preferring a nearby flower, rather than me, to land on. 

Though I would like to linger, the heat of the day is coming as the high clouds start to part. I stand, taking in the perfume of the fields. As I leave my rest spot, the popping sounds of gravel drown out the sounds of insects and any excess heat I was feeling is being blown away as I increase my speed.