This is November at Big Willow Park

Yesterday I went back to a park that used to be my go-to hiking in the woods place. It was just a mile or so from where we used to live in Minnetonka. I’ve spent many hours hiking the paths at Big Willow Park when I need time alone in nature to recharge and replenish. In the springtime I love visiting a large colony of bloodroot wildflowers that always bloom there.

Because I knew that Big Willow Park has a lot of beautiful oak trees and that some of those trees would still be holding on to their leaves, I decided to hike there with my camera yesterday. I’m not quite ready for the completely bare limbs of the tall sugar maples at Wolsfeld Woods, another favorite hiking place.

Every day the world is teaching me what I need to know to be in the world. — Margaret Renkl, Late Migrations: A Natural History of Love and Loss

The skies were gray when I arrived at the park but there were a lot of hikers on the trails. A couple of mountain bikers were enjoying going up and down stairs and other step paths. I was not surprised by how high Minnehaha Creek was or how high the water was in the marsh. It has been such a wet year here.

Off the beaten path

As I arrived at the park I took a side path that I don’t usually take and after just a minute or two was so glad that I had chosen that particular path. Some kind artist had left little painted rock reminders beside the path. You had to observe carefully to notice them but they brought a smile to my face when I first saw them. As I continued my hike I kept an eye out for additional painted rocks but didn’t see any. I wonder how many the artist placed in the woods. It was such a lovely random act of kindness and goodness.

I grew up playing in the woods, and all my life I’ve turned to woodland paths when the world is too much with me, but I am no scientist. It took a lot of nerve for someone so ignorant of true wilderness to fashion herself as a nature writer, but the flip side of ignorance is astonishment, and I am good at astonishment.— Margaret Renkl, Late Migrations: A Natural History of Love and Loss

Tiny patches of snow remained from a light snowfall a few days ago. I was relieved to see most of the snow had melted as the temperatures climbed towards 40 degrees.

The color palette of the woods is more subdued now than it is earlier in the year. But I was surprised by how much green remained. Soon the woods will sport a monochrome color palette that consists of browns and grays, but now the oak leaves still carry rust and red colors in places, drawing my eyes to their beauty.