Slightly past the midway point on the half-hour walk between my studio, there is a a stretch of grassy rolling land that runs between the road and the river. It is too narrow and awkwardly shaped to allow for any form of development. This small greenway has become my favorite section of my walk as it affords an escape from the traffic and crumbling Industrial Age brick of North Adams. It also allows a overlook to the Hoosic River,There is a large concrete flood abatement dam that drops the river some thirty or forty feet into the last deep bolder strewn section of bottom before it is sullenly subdued into the concrete bed that wends its way through town. Here upstream, before it becomes the "caged river" (as my friend rather aptly puts it) The Hoosic carves out deep trenches, piles up snags and tangles of driftwood and riffles around massive stones. Above the dam the water is calmer and appears deceptively placid. I assume the water is relatively deep here because it is favored by mergansers (oddly prehistoric looking yet remarkably timid diving ducks) and other waterfowl In the surrounding trees I have seen crows, hawks a turkey vulture and various other small birds including sparrows and waxwings.
The other day just as I reached the spillway, my eye caught a form diving through the air in alarm at my approach which disappeared into the branches of the forest. I presume it was a kingfisher, but, like so many of these situations, I am destined to never really know for certain. Instead I was almost instantly rewarded with something better Almost directly beneath where my mystery bird vanished, a small long shadow bustled out of the undergrowth and onto the bank. and revealed itself to be an American mink. The chocolate colored animal trotted purposefully over the stones, her tattered bottle-brush tail held perpendicular as she went briskly about her business. She hopped atop a rock and after appearing to give matters a moment's consideration, plunged smoothly into the water barely raising a ripple in her wake. The water was clear enough so I could see her dark form moving beneath the surface clearly. The mink moved between land and water effortlessly, only pausing long enough to shake herself dry, scout out a new destination or rub catlike against a fallen log, giving me a clear view of the pure white patch on her throat. At one point during the ten or so minutes while I watched, I let a small cough escape. She regarded me with the charmingly insolent and vaguely offended expression that is characteristic of the entire weasel tribe. Evidently deciding that I was of no consequence and after a second's reflection she continued about her business. Eventually she surfaced from a pool with something wriggling clasped tightly in her teeth. She jogged victoriously along the riverside and withdrew into a snarl of branches to enjoy her meal.
For at least the past two hundred years, the Hoosic has been embattled by Industrialization. Mills and dams were built to control the river's flow and harness it's power. The embankments are molded by retaining walls, bridges, and concrete beds. To superficial appearances, it would appear that the river has been wholly domesticated and bent to the will of humanity. One needs only walk uphill from my studio building to Natural Bridge State Park to gain a different, perhaps less shortsighted, perspective.
Beaver Mill perches at a bend in the river, a magnificent sturdy machine age fortress from the 1850's . It gives the impression that it could hold up tolerably well against barbarian hordes. Before it was colonized by working artists, it was home to an electric manufacturer and, prior to that, a print textile company. A hundred years changes everything.
Within the confines of the State Park there are remnants of various human enterprises from rain faded names from the 1800's scratched into exposed marble face, the remains of a quarry and a white marble dam. and the ruins of a few constructions. The big draw is of course the natural bridge and surrounding rock formations. Through thousands of years the river has worn away at the marble, sculpting it into graceful and imposing contours and boring through the very rock-face to form the "natural bridge". Chain link fences surround the chasms to protect us from ourselves. People always stand too close to the edge. compared to the stone below these look as flimsy and insubstantial as cobweb. The foundations of the mills crumble, The men who etched their names are gone. The river flows indifferently on.
The other day just as I reached the spillway, my eye caught a form diving through the air in alarm at my approach which disappeared into the branches of the forest. I presume it was a kingfisher, but, like so many of these situations, I am destined to never really know for certain. Instead I was almost instantly rewarded with something better Almost directly beneath where my mystery bird vanished, a small long shadow bustled out of the undergrowth and onto the bank. and revealed itself to be an American mink. The chocolate colored animal trotted purposefully over the stones, her tattered bottle-brush tail held perpendicular as she went briskly about her business. She hopped atop a rock and after appearing to give matters a moment's consideration, plunged smoothly into the water barely raising a ripple in her wake. The water was clear enough so I could see her dark form moving beneath the surface clearly. The mink moved between land and water effortlessly, only pausing long enough to shake herself dry, scout out a new destination or rub catlike against a fallen log, giving me a clear view of the pure white patch on her throat. At one point during the ten or so minutes while I watched, I let a small cough escape. She regarded me with the charmingly insolent and vaguely offended expression that is characteristic of the entire weasel tribe. Evidently deciding that I was of no consequence and after a second's reflection she continued about her business. Eventually she surfaced from a pool with something wriggling clasped tightly in her teeth. She jogged victoriously along the riverside and withdrew into a snarl of branches to enjoy her meal.
For at least the past two hundred years, the Hoosic has been embattled by Industrialization. Mills and dams were built to control the river's flow and harness it's power. The embankments are molded by retaining walls, bridges, and concrete beds. To superficial appearances, it would appear that the river has been wholly domesticated and bent to the will of humanity. One needs only walk uphill from my studio building to Natural Bridge State Park to gain a different, perhaps less shortsighted, perspective.
Beaver Mill perches at a bend in the river, a magnificent sturdy machine age fortress from the 1850's . It gives the impression that it could hold up tolerably well against barbarian hordes. Before it was colonized by working artists, it was home to an electric manufacturer and, prior to that, a print textile company. A hundred years changes everything.
Within the confines of the State Park there are remnants of various human enterprises from rain faded names from the 1800's scratched into exposed marble face, the remains of a quarry and a white marble dam. and the ruins of a few constructions. The big draw is of course the natural bridge and surrounding rock formations. Through thousands of years the river has worn away at the marble, sculpting it into graceful and imposing contours and boring through the very rock-face to form the "natural bridge". Chain link fences surround the chasms to protect us from ourselves. People always stand too close to the edge. compared to the stone below these look as flimsy and insubstantial as cobweb. The foundations of the mills crumble, The men who etched their names are gone. The river flows indifferently on.
If it truly is a pitched battle of Man vs Nature, it seems to me a war that we will inevitably lose. Perhaps we should. I like to think that thousands of years from now, long after you and I are all at best distant memories, the ancestors of the mink will be chasing silvery fish among the chewed-up remains of the river's concrete bed
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