Recently my Aunt Emme and I, along with Marti, the shaggy Golden Lab, drove up Windy Valley Road along the Mehoopany Creek to Stoney Brook Trail, where we hiked through the snowy woods for a mile or two on a crisp winter day. The woods were still with only the sound of the rushing brook and a few fox tracks to disturb the snow.

As we walked up the trail, we chatted about the creek, the woods, family, and memories. The creek was ravaged several years ago by a terrible flood that stranded people in the homes nearby and changed the channel in many places, bringing down trees that are slowly decaying along its length, making it impassible in places where hikers and hunters used to be able to ford it.  Nonetheless, it is still a place of beauty and peace, where you can go to clear your mind as you hike up a number of trails along tributaries with evocative names: Henry Lott Brook, Scouten Brook, Kasson Brook, Red Brook, White Brook.

Later, after Marti, much to our dismay, had jumped into the frigid water for a quick bath, we made our way down a different path, through a stand of Hemlocks to the edge of the icy rushing water at The Rocks. The water cuts through stone here and forms a swimming hole below, which was very popular back in the day for all kinds of boisterous activities. But on this winter day we were the only visitors who beheld how the mountainside above shadowed the sun, and turned this glen grey-blue as the blue-grey water churned by.

These places along the Mehoopany Creek hold some of my best childhood memories. It was here where we used to make our way up to the State Game Lands in August to pick wild huckleberries at Tamarack Swamp or Crane Swamp, only after my dad had wrapped home-made cardboard guards around our calves to protect us from rattlesnakes. This is where Aunt Emme led us on horseback rides up steep old logging roads and deer trails, through the quiet forest, and down the even steeper trails until our backsides ached and our legs were stiff.  Often there were deer sightings; once we saw bear cubs lumber out from behind a cabin. I didn’t see this myself, but my aunt tells of one ride where they had to step around two entwined rattlesnakes raised up like Cobras, either fighting or mating-it was hard to tell which. This is also where Aunt Emme  used to lead her  4-H Hiking Club as she taught her own kids and others wilderness skills: how to set a tent, how to start a campfire, how to stay on the trail, how to leave the woods better than when you entered. It was a crime we dared not commit to leave a piece of litter behind.

We made our way back to civilization, pausing so I could take a picture of Buzzard’s Roost, an overlook and picnic site for weary hikers …and buzzards.  After some home-made soup and muffins, I headed home, restored.

This essay is a tip of the hat to all of the active members of the Mehoopany Creek Watershed Association, who work tirelessly year after year to preserve this sacred place. Thank you!

 Thanks for reading this, and peace to you.