My guest today is sharing his nature essay. Please welcome Martin James Wood to your Wild Ozark space. Pull up a chair, grab a cup of coffee and enjoy the beauty – From the Cabin’s Front Porch.
From The Cabin’s Front Porch
Written by: Martin James Wood
This evening while sitting on the cabin’s front porch, nestled along the forest’s edge and some tucked away farm fields and age-old pastures, I decide to set here and not move, and watch the evening pass…
The leaves among the trees are as dark, of a green, as they are going to be in this late time of summer.
The rising and falling fields of corn are flaunting their yellow tassels in neatly textured rows,,, and the lush soybean fields exhibit their rich dark green color, as the wind gently caresses the sea of green maturation like the subtle waves of the ocean.
From the cabin’s front porch, I can see the red cherry crabapples have come on, sporting the trees with tiny red dots amongst the faded green branches.
The indefinite droning of the crickets with their hypnotic chorus continues on into the later evening.
From the cabin’s front porch, I can hear an occasional crow caw, as it loudly breaks the evening’s sound of the monotonous crickets. I recognize this sound, as this is a sound heard often in the fall season, among these cornfields and woods.
From the cabin’s front porch, I gaze out at the blue sky backdrop which compliments the contrasting elements of the dark green trees standing behind the yellowed tipped corn.
A cooler breeze cuts through the trees in the warm humid air. I become aware of a sudden interrupting burst of some robins cackling in the near distance…
From the cabin’s front porch, I perceive the quiet from all around… No sounds from any roads, near or far,,, as was one of the reasons why I had chosen to settle on this place, many decades ago…
From the cabin’s front porch, I can see the beach nuts are starting to show themselves with their prickly husks of soft needles, which I know will eventually turn firmer as the fall season progresses.
From the cabin’s front porch, I can see the oaks’ branches are heavy with their crop of nuts and red stemmed thick green leaves.
Higher up the mountain, the winds pick up and softly sweep along the lonely tops of the lofty timber…
From the cabin’s front porch, I can see the goldenrod has begun to dress up the untouched forgotten meadows.
From the cabin’s front porch, I hear geese break the silence from above, as they effortlessly pass over, performing their early ensemble of autumn… Afterwards, I hear a couple doves cooing somewhere along the edges of a distant mountain pasture…
From the cabin’s front porch, I hear a family cow bawling for its supper from the valley below, in the evenings now cooler air…
From the cabin’s front porch, I also can see the mighty oaks’ acorns have begun to let go of the branches… The azaleas’ leaves have begun to turn their crimson red,,, and the sumacs are full of their red fruit.
From the cabin’s front porch, I can see the hardwood cherry is producing its pea-like berries of red and some already dark violet.
From the cabin’s front porch, I can see the dark green rhododendrons have begun to curl their leaves, and the laurel leaves have turned their lighter yellow-green which are pointing upward toward the sky.
The sun gently shines across the rolling farm fields spread out beyond the cabin’s porch and lights the land ablaze with golds and yellows as the sky farther off gradually transforms from hues of blue to orange, yellow and brown.
From the cabin’s front porch, I listen to the peepers as they begin to fade in with the symphonic monotonicity of the crickets,,, as the cool late summer evening fades out, with the approaching of dusk…
Now standing,,, very still in front of my chair,,, and removing my hat as I stare a long while into the night… Humbly, I walk toward the door and lightly grasp the handle while taking one last glance over my shoulder. Softly opening the door, I slowly step inside,,, from the cabin’s front porch…
Nature enthusiast Martin James Wood is an outdoor writer and blogger for The Wood’s Edge. He has spent his life among the forests and woods, admiring nature with a camera and pen. His writing, artistry, and outdoor photography celebrate nature’s simplicity and beauty. A Pennsylvania native, Martin James is a loving father and husband, and a friend to our nation’s forests who believes in protecting and preserving our wild lands.
All rights for this post, including the image, belong to The
Wood’s Edge. Do not reblog or copy without permission from the creator.
Predator and Prey, or the hunter and the hunted is a common theme throughout my fiction writing. No Qualms, one of my short stories (free at most retailers) is about about a predator/prey relationship. Symbiosis, my first finished novel, deals with predator/prey relationships and the balance of energy among life on earth, sometimes symbolic and often outright. Many of my flash fiction stories (I have twitterfiction and 100-word flash stories) are also dealing with this same dynamic. This is a strong theme that runs through most of my fiction and is strongly influenced by life in the wild Ozarks where we live. My first published novel, First Hunt, also has a predator and prey theme to it. I guess it's just part of my nature.
Wild Ozark is 160 acres of beautiful wild Ozark mountains. I call what I do "nature farming" because the land produces, all by itself, the shagbark hickory trees, ferns, moss, ground-fall botanicals, and the perfect habitats for growing and stewarding American ginseng. I'm co-creating with Nature - all of the things I use to make the Fairy Gardens and Forest Folk, the bark we harvest for Burnt Kettle's shagbark hickory syrup, are produced by nature without my input. This land is my muse for inspiration when it comes to my writing, drawing, and photography. It's truly a Nature Farm.
About the voice behind this blog, Madison Woods
I'm a creative old soul living way off the beaten path with my husband in the wild Ozark Mountains. Besides homesteading, growing plants & making crafty things and newsletters, I write books and stories. My rural fantasy fiction, written under the pen name, Ima Erthwitch, usually takes place in a much altered Ozarks.