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The sky at twilight was cerulean blue, void of clouds and speckled with faint stars. A full yellow moon was hovering above the horizon. A chorus of spring peepers sang continuously, filling the air with high-pitched, ambient noise.  The temperature was cool but comfortable. My wife and I were lured outside by the beautiful weather, but also by the possibility of seeing wildlife. There are many creatures that become active as day turns to night. We were hopeful that we would be lucky enough to see a few critters that evening.

On that night there was also the year’s first supermoon – a fairly common occurrence in which a full moon coincides with perigee – the point in the moon’s orbit when it is closest to earth. There are usually four or five supermoons each year. When the moon is closest to earth, it exerts its strongest gravitational pull. We thought this astronomical event might influence the behavior of the local wildlife. As many people know, there seems to be a correlation between full moon events and strange behavior exhibited by animals (as well as humans). With the addition of a greater gravitational pull, it might bring about some fascinating observations. We hiked to a local pond in hopes of finding treasure.

In the fading daylight we walked silently towards the pond. When we were within fifteen feet of the small water body, I saw a beaver swimming at the surface. It was rather far away but it was headed directly towards us. Before we knew it, the beaver was milling about the front end of the pond, putting on quite a show. Suddenly, another beaver appeared, perhaps coming to see what its companion was doing. Then a third beaver arrived, then a fourth, and then a fifth! There were five beavers paddling around the pond at once! Never before had we seen so much beaver activity in one place!

What was causing the beavers to be so active? I am willing to bet that the supermoon had something to do with it. The moon is famous for exerting a gravitational pull that causes the tides. But it also provides something that is immensely influential on the behavior of animals: light. Light is a limiting factor for many creatures. When there is more of it, many nocturnal animals tend to be more active. A bright moon can create opportunities for feeding, mating, and traveling. From wildebeests roaming the Serengeti to fish in the Great Barrier Reef, animals around the world take advantage of a full moon’s rays. The beavers at our pond seemed to be utilizing the extremely bright supermoon, but for what exactly? Finding food? Finding a mate? Perhaps a bit of both.

For a few weeks I had been eagerly anticipating the arrival of a particular wildflower. I knew it would appear soon, and that its longevity would be short. I didn’t want to miss it. So a few days ago I took a walk to dry, rocky slope and lo and behold I saw it: the Round-lobed Hepatica (Anemone americana). Pretty as any flower I have ever seen, the Round-lobed Hepaticas were displaying their lovely violet colors for anyone who may have walked by.

This member of the buttercup family is one of the first wildflowers to appear in the eastern woodland forests. It ranges in color from violet to white. The spring ephemeral gets its common name because its thrice-lobed leaves have rounded edges. The word Hepatica is of Greek origin and refers to the leaf resembling the human liver. The genus name Anemone is a Greek word that means “windflower” or “daughter of the wind,” referring the old belief that the flowers only opened in windy conditions.

In my opinion, there is no wildflower that better announces the arrival of spring than the Round-lobed Hepatica. I like to think of it as the prelude to a wonderful performance. Like the horns played at the beginning of a great symphony, the hepaticas are followed by an orchestra of life: plants, animals, and fungi that harmonize in a glorious opus of nature.

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Yesterday I visited the Thornhurst tract of Pinchot State Forest in southern Lackawanna County. My first experience in this forest occurred in the late 1990s with my boy scout troop. We hiked a few miles of the Pinchot Trail, and I was intrigued by the remoteness of the area. I returned to the forest when I was in college, perhaps to escape the stress of undergraduate life. Yesterday’s outing was my third venture into these woods, and was intended to break up the monotony of quarantining in my apartment. A curious pattern is developing: it seems I must return to Thornhurst about once every decade.

There was a blanket of snow approximately three inches deep. It was mid-afternoon, but I felt there was enough time to hike to the vista and back before dark. A few hours of daylight was all I needed to have a short adventure in the middle of January.

I began hiking up the Powder Magazine Trail which led me through a grove of green mountain laurels. Clusters of sheep laurels abutted the trail in some parts; their leaves, though olive-brown and drooping, were still attached.  There were also teaberry stems with brownish leaves. They were tall enough that the snow did not cover them completely. Though most broad-leafed plants lose their leaves in autumn, those three members of the Heath family retain them all winter.

Turning onto the yellow-blazed Pine Hill Trail, I began a gradual ascent. Spruces and firs were abundant in some lower areas, but farther up the hill the forest was dominated by oaks and other hardwoods. The presence of snow made the experience quite enjoyable. Even a small amount can turn a drab, leafless forest scene into a beautiful and inviting environment. Sometimes the sun would peek through the clouds, making the snow and ice glow radiantly.     

Upon reaching the summit of Big Pine Hill, I walked to the top of the observation deck. A few gnarled pitch pines were the only green things to be seen. I could see two ski resorts to the south, which I believe were probably Jack Frost and Big Boulder. A mass of dark clouds was coming in from the west, which soon eliminated the sun and a few patches of blue sky. Flurries began to fall, and I took that as my cue to hike back down the hill.

The sun began to reappear as I sauntered down the back side of Big Pine Hill. The treetops were glistening in the rays. I turned onto the orange-blazed Bear Swamp Trail where I began a long, gradual descent. I kept a keen eye out for a yellow-blazed path, knowing it would take me back to my car. Eventually I saw one. Veering onto it, I thought that I would be back at my vehicle soon. However, about two minutes later I realized that there were no boot tracks in the snow. This was not the trail I had been on before. So I went back to the Bear Swamp Trail and continued in an easterly direction. I saw another yellow-blazed trail, but it did not have boot tracks either. Finally after a bit more searching, I found a yellow-blazed trail imprinted with boot tracks that matched my own.

It was getting dark quickly, but the clouds had passed and the sky was mostly clear. A crescent moon hovered above the trees, and I thought that it would be nice to spend a night here under the stars. Alas, I was ill-prepared for camping, and I had to get back to my wife. Hopefully I will return to this forest before another ten years come to pass.

Cold air, leafless trees, short days and long nights – winter tends to bring me down no matter what year it is. But even in this apparently bleak season, there is beauty to behold. If we look to nature, we find there is life and light even on the darkest days. 

Verdant color is added to the landscape by conifers, rhododendrons, laurels, and ferns. Snow and ice may cover everything in a white, crystalline blanket. Chickadees and nuthatches visit bird feeders. Herds of deer trot through the forest. Flocks of snow geese fly through the air. A great blue heron wades in the water of a local pond. The heron’s silhouette stands against the backdrop of an orange and pink sunset.

Though the nights are long, the sky is filled with beautiful celestial bodies. Saturn, Jupiter and Mars are clearly seen as they roam across the blackness of space. The constellations Orion, Auriga and Gemini are magnificent collections of luminous stars. In Canis Major there is Sirius – the brightest star in the night sky in any season.  

No matter how grim human existence may seem, the beauty of nature helps to heal and enrich the soul. Immersing oneself in nature even in winter can bring solace to a troubled spirit. As Henry David Thoreau once said, “There can be no very black melancholy for him who has his senses still and lives in the midst of nature.”