Just before Christmas, I twisted my left knee while working in the woodlot. I kept going, thinking I could work through it. But on Dec. 29, I sat in my easy chair and admitted defeat.
It took a week of rest, some home cures and a stiff brace, rustled up by the Wise Woman, but I’m back in the woodlot.
I need, almost every day, a walk in the woods or an hour or two in the woodlot for reasons that I’m curious about but don’t really understand.
I’m clearing brush mostly, but as I go I free the tall trees of English ivy. The ivy runs up the trunks more than 50 feet in places. I cut the vines at the ground and then again, slightly above head high. The vines are so thick they come off the bark in mats. Pulling them off disturbs insects, which scurry for new hiding places.
An Eastern phoebe, a member of the flycatcher tribe, has been following me through the woodlot. I thought at first that I was invading his territory.
But as I pulled ivy off a big pine, I disturbed so many bugs I wondered whether they would be able to hide before the birds found them.
That phoebe was awfully quick.
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