Ecojustice in My Community

Week 1 - Quaker Pond Trail, Mendon, NY 

3/16/2024

 8:30 am - 11:00 am 

Cloudy but calm with the slight chill of winter in the air.

8:30 - Today is the Saturday before St. Patrick's Day, and it is early; I presume many people will be going out to the bars today, so I expect to have the trail to myself. Accompanying me this morning is my loyal hound, Kodak. We walk this trail most weekends, and most Saturdays, it is quiet. It is quiet and a bit chilly since it is March, but we just had a week of beautiful 60 and 70-degree weather, so many things may be coming out of hibernation, ready to bloom into an early spring. 

8:45- There is birdsong echoing over treetops and between the trees; from sound alone, I can hear nuthatches, chickadees, cardinals, juncos, red-winged blackbirds, bluejays, and titmice. Every winter, I fill a small bag of birdseed and leave it in my coat pocket for moments like this. This trail is known for bird feeding, so I will now do that. Kodak is a wonderful companion as he loves watching the birds and is so patient with me that I could stand and stare at the sky all day, and he would stand with me. 

9:30- We have stood here for the better part of forty five minutes, slowly and quietly making our way down the trail through the chorus of songs, and I’ve been feeding the birds from my palm. Chickadees are the most courageous and the first to come close, swooping down close to investigate the scene. They trailblaze for the rest of the palm-feeding birds. Listening to their calls, I imagine that they are talking to each other, telling their friends the coast is clear and this human is a friend, not a foe, and brings sustenance in cold weather. After the chickadees make their debut, the nuthatches descend. The two species we have here are the white-breasted and the red-breasted nuthatch; they are silly little songbirds that defy gravity and hang upside down on the branches in search of food. Today, a white-breasted nuthatch teased me, flying close but never landing. The red-breasted nuthatch was a bossy boot, and when it was his turn, he laid claim to my outstretched palm, fending off any hungry chickadee. The last bird that landed on my palm was the most timid- the titmouse. She only landed once, grasping onto my fingertips; her balance was lost, and as quickly as she landed- she left. As for the rest of the birds that I could hear, many of them are ground feeders, preferring the seeds dropped by impatient birders and the safety of the soil beneath their clawed feet. I saw almost all of them just ahead of me on the trail, but they never flew close enough to see what I had to offer. The birds leave me with excitement and a longing for more. I am enthralled with tiny feet against my fingers, the feeling egging me into the studio, itching to create art. 

10:00 - Kodak and I are about halfway through our little hike. We are taking longer than usual, as I am observing more for this reflection. Kodak thankfully doesn’t mind and is quite happy occupying himself by investigating the smells of the trail- a sense I am happy to say I do not want to enhance for the sake of this project. He chases a few chipmunks, and with many years of training between us, I trust him to wander along within eye and earshot. He chases a few chipmunks, and soon, he will take a little dip in the frigid lake when we come to a break in the trees to find the shore. I can hear geese and more red-winged blackbirds the closer we come. The geese do not surprise me, but I usually don’t start hearing the red wings until mid-April. I am worried the freak warm weather is throwing off their migration patterns. 

10:15 - We stopped after taking a side trail down to the water. Kodak had a little polar plunge, and I am sitting on a stump, soaking in the sunshine that falls on my face. Next to me, a tree has been chiseled by a zealous beaver, and there is a beautiful radial pattern of decay on a different tree cut down by a human. This area is known for its beautiful wildlife, resting just twenty minutes outside the hustle and bustle of city life in Rochester. And becoming more common in this area is the bald eagle. I’ve recently picked up listening to Silent Spring by the incredible environmentalist and author Rachel Carson. The work and research she did inspired me as a child, and I’ve carried that wonderment and rage into my adult life. Watching now as one of the local bald eagles sits atop a conifer tree, I have to ponder what the current state of the world is and if one day this lake that is inaccessible to motorized boats but very accessible to chemical runoff will one day be as affected as some of the lakes and streams that she was researching back in the 1950s. 

10:30—Back on the main trail, traversing between old-growth and new-growth forests, I see lichen, moss, and polypore fungi growing. A few puffed-out mushrooms lay wilted and decaying on a stump. Do plants get cold? It's only about 40 degrees now, and I can’t imagine that plants enjoy this weather. 

10:45- The world has woken up, and I run into more people. Kodak goes begrudgingly back on his leash as we quietly pass through the last stretch of trail. The couple we pass do the same as we did, standing quietly, arms outstretched, holding their breath, and waiting for the timid fluttering of a brave chickadee to land in their palms. Peeking at the man's sweater, I see it proudly advertises a tech college, and I think back to how, with the increase in technology, there must be an increase in the need for nature. Everyone feels it, even without consuming the literature from this course, it is a sense we harbor in our cores. Everything is connected, and we are all the same. There are no unique experiences but experiences that we seek to share and enjoy with each other. Is that not the meaning of it all?

Reflection

Quaker Pond Trails' health is stellar; it is located in a wealthy suburb of Rochester, home to many doctors and lawyers, and the trail is kept in pristine condition. I know this from the vibrance of its inhabitants, the plethora of songbirds, the abundance of old growth evident in the forest, and the lack of litter and trash. Even being an avid dog trail, hardly any feces was visible, and no plastic excrement bags were left behind. Quaker trail is also one of the few trails that horses are not permitted, keeping the trail even and clean. Many runners, hikers, and leisurely strollers can be found meandering along this trail during the late morning and afternoon hours. All are out to enjoy the pristine nature and fresh air this area provides, as well as a respite from the grinding nature of city life. A challenge that I can foresee this trail eventually succumbing to is the overuse of chemicals in the area.

Given that it is located in a wealthy suburb, neighborhoods surrounding the area are often found with crisp, almost artificially green lawns, no doubt the result of spraying pesticides and herbicides. I have been reading Rachel Carson's book Silent Spring, and while walking this trail, it is hard not to dread the silent long-term effects of such poisons. In her time, many of these chemicals were advertised as safe with no side effects on the environment or people. However, that was proven untrue, and many side effects are still known today. Will this area one day be silent, too? 

Ask The Birds

To address the health of such a place, we must ask the birds (they are so very sensitive to changes in the environment). I think they would tell you they are very content with the pond. They have thick brush to take cover in, acres of land to stretch in, and plenty of berries and seeds to sustain themselves. Ask the trees (they’ve been there longer than I have been alive) and they may tell a story of soil quality. They may say that being allowed to reach their roots as far as they need, stretching branches high, and unfurling leaves are all the life they need. Ask the fungi, with their mycelium that expand in a web, connecting all the foliage together, and they will tell you how this trail is unknown to many. The footsteps that loop around and around are far fewer than the cars that pass on the highway miles away. Its concealed location is a saving grace for the habitats that thrive. Ask the fish that swim unbothered, and they may gurgle out, thanks to the inaccessibility of the pond. With no dock within walking distance from the parking lot, no oil or gas seeps into the water to contaminate. Ask the deer, whose thin trails and sheds hide, camouflaged in the undergrowth. They will tell you the highway is much too close, and even with no hunters, they are fearful. Ask the children who stumble over tree roots and beg to be carried. They will tell you there is magic in the trails. The trees whisper tranquil secrets, the ponds shimmer with gold, a chorus of feathered wings sing their favorite songs, and the ground is covered in natural treasure waiting to be collected and studied.