There are no longer horses at our place here in Scottsville, a farm we’ve come to call “Horseshoe Hill.” Our barn did use to be home to several pampered horses, and in ode to them, Scottsville’s location at the bend of the James River, and perhaps the spot of good luck we had at finding and preparing such a place, we have named it that.
As far as we know, the hill on which our barn house is built had no name before we got here, but the Monacans once called the floodplains nearby their home, and more recently, places near us have been named things such as “Payne’s Landing,” “Dobby” and “Adams” creeks, and “Beals’ Lane.” I am guessing that the Beal homestead was what the lane led to, but now there are approximately 40 or so smallish houses, close to the road, with no mailboxes whatsoever reading “Beal.” Ah…what is in a name, or not.
It was a while after we got started on our house that we found all the corners of the property we live on. A friend came out with his new GPS tool he’d received for Christmas, and we were all surprised at the actual expanse of the woods. We’d thought it was much smaller, with the creeks as the natural boundary. However, the property actually extended in one corner past it, and back uphill to an area I have not made it back to since. The most exciting discovery was that we had a pretty extensive trail, presumably from the former owner’s horseback riding days.
Until we finished our house, the construction and maintenance of a trail system would have to wait. At some point, we realized we’d never be entirely “done” with our house, our farm, anything, really…So, in 2004-5 the earnest demarcation of the land for the trail began. That sounds a lot more hardcore than it actually was…Michael and Jasmine took a couple of rakes out there and at winter’s end, raked all the leaves off the trail that was already there.
There are two places to access the 0.9 mile loop from our back yard; at the back east corner of our fence, and at the trailhead, behind the run-in shed/chicken coop. (Now a small barn, sans chickens, Ed.) We usually enter the trail at the east end of the fence, marked by a Red Cedar that was pretty small when we first moved here but has now grown to be a formidable tree.
Just off the beginning of the trail is an old outhouse we once thought held promise as a bathroom alternative until we realized it had been filled with concrete, rendering it unusable without a retrofit. Plus the wasps had decided it made a fine home. It is “cute”, with an outdoor latch (?) and a roof made with an old Appomattox State Forest sign. I still think it could be resurrected for its original purpose by merely substituting a green 5-gallon bucket and inserting it into the formerly deep and purposeful hole.
Adjacent to the outhouse is a bluebird house given us by Cole and Erin Marley as a housewarming gift our first year here. Several generations have since called this box home and made use of the shady but well-appointed facilities. (We’ve since moved this box to the front gate, about ten feet from our front porch because we’d heard bluebirds like people. It must be true; they raised three separate generations there their first year, in 2011, Ed.)
A bit more down the hill lies a small section reserved for burying well-loved homestead members; former pet rabbits, laying hens, and rowdy roosters that met their demise through various causes, sometimes old age and other times through violence. This place was easily recognized by a rotting log a few years ago…the passing of time has now rendered it into a barely noticeable mound of soil. You will miss it if you don’t know what you are looking for, and this still blows my mind.
Further on, there are occasional stacks of firewood where a dead tree here or there was cleared or dropped for that purpose, and the wood dries and season, waiting for the day strong arms (or a riding mower-propelled wagon) will hoist it uphill. There the former skyscrapers of our woods will heat our home, for free, just with the energy it takes to carry the wood uphill and stack it.
A small path meanders from the main one, and in a few feet, the new treehouse in all its cedar-sided and blue-trimmed glory, is revealed. There’s railing left to be done possibly with rustic cedar posts, but it is a nicely semi-hidden spot not too far from either (the outhouse or the Barnhouse, for whenever our kids might decide to sleep out there)) (2012: Which they’ve done exactly once, in 2008, Ed.)
If one skips the detour to the treehouse and continues on, there is an old, less-used trail straight down to a creek’s head that we call “the Springtree.” The Springtree is beech that is at least thirty years old, and possibly hundred-plus years old, and where we first found Michael’s initials etched previously to our moving here. Barely readable now are those same initials that convinced us to choose this place we now call Horseshoe Hill. We found those in 2001, along with the name “Mike C,” which is no longer identifiable. It was there long enough to serve its purpose, which I think was to give us a sure “sign” that we should rest our heads here at least for a while.
From this installed and oddly-bent Beech tree emerges the beginning of one of our creeks that branch into Adam’s Creek. This is the body of water that runs through our property and marks one of its borders further beyond one of its borders, beyond where this branch enters it.
As we follow the main path down the hill, a large oak has fallen and created a small cave under its roots. The oak was blown down in a tornado-like storm in 2003 but it was mercifully the only victim on our property as far as we’ve found, and far from our house. Part of it will become this year’s firewood, almost five years later.
Continuing on, there are a few more piles of seasoning, and stacked wood…we are pretty sure that barring any unusually cold winter (last year’s was unusually warm), we will already have the wood we need. It just needs to be (womp womp) carted uphill.
A few trees bear the recent scars of the barbed wire that had infested large bits of the woods until just a few years ago when our awesome friends from the Bart network named Giovanni and David came and removed the hideous fencing that no longer kept anything out or in, and posed hazards to all hikers, trespassing or not. According to Giovanni, it also contributed to a concentration-camp vibe; definitely a relief to see it gone. Until we met Giovanni, we never knew someone could remove and wind the wire so rapidly. He would truly be a world-record holder if contests were held for such things.
Finally, the path is breached by a small creek, over which Michael has built a small wooden bridge. Crossing the creek further along the path also requires traversing a tree that has fallen over it with a flat-chiseled top, a few rocks, and another bridge. This particular area is spectacular when all of the mountain laurels there are in bloom. Every third year or so, they really put on a show. Also, in the summer at any point, the sun glistening on the water is a welcome and beautiful sight.
Ajah probably uses the path more than anyone for walking our dog Clover one or two times a day. She often remarks on the changes she observes like the leaning tree that finally fell in a most unusual way, creating a square “frame” shape. Or, she will note the fluctuating height of the water, depending upon the season and precipitation frequency.
One of the best spots in the woods is surely “Zen Rock.” It is a large, jagged piece of slate, or maybe granite that juts out over the creek and allows the perfect space for contemplation on the ripples on the water or meditation in general. There’s never enough time to be there long enough; it marks one of the corners of the property, and from there, the path takes a sharp turn uphill.
On these creekside trail areas, we’ve had to contend with trespassers in recent years. A hiker that leaves not a trace but an occasional footprint is not a problem, but the tire marks and broken small trees that are evidence of privileged ATV drivers are not appreciated in the least. They’ve left deep ruts on the property, messing up our path, creating unnatural pools of water that breed mosquitoes, and, worst of all, they’ve created sedimentation and uglified the creek. Bad, bad.
Eventually, we had to acknowledge that even the rocks and huge brush piles we piled in the middle of our paths would not deter these rude intruders, so we had to erect “No Trespassing” signs as well as yellow caution tape usually associated with crime scenes. It is ugly, and I resent that we had to do it because of someone else’s insensitive and lawless behavior, but it now protects us legally if one of these ATV drivers, adult or juvenile, were to wreck or get hurt as they drove uninvited through our woods.
It is really unfortunate that landowners are usually driven to this point, to protect themselves by having to put up eyesore neon-colored sign, ruining for all hikers and drivers alike the beauty of the natural landscape. Its done to stave off any possible misunderstanding of who is welcome, but my feeling is people should probably assume they are unwelcome to trespass unless a trail is marked public, or they have express permission from the landowner.
Then we can leave the ugly signs in the hardware store, and out of the woods. And trespassers should be aware that, in general, NOBODY wants an ATV driving through their woods. If you have money for an expensive vehicle for “all terrains,” please make sure you have the money to provide your own terrain for them, and any resultant hospitable bills from their use. Every year, we hear of deaths of some kids from these deceptively “fun” mobiles.
We’ve had to go through the process a couple times of repairing our trails, adding to brush piles and re-marking the borders with this yellow tape. It is probably the one thing I dislike about stewarding a piece of land. It’s really too bad that even far from a public road I’m still not safe from getting run over by a motorized vehicle.
Okay…leaving this area of extreme beauty (and sometimes unwanted recreation), we head up the hill to the ridge, where an abandoned and disintegrating bluebird house used to sit on a stump and is now decaying along with it. There is a quickly-growing Maple-leaf Viburnum beginning to shade this area.
I suspect that his part of the path, which runs along the other ridge of our property and completes the horseshoe-shaped hill, is a remnant of the bridle-path trails of the former equestrian owner of the farm. It heads steadily and slightly up(or down, depending upon which way you are coming from) and leads directly to our next-door neighbor’s house if we don’t make a quick right at the three stately and aligned pine trees about a hundred feet from there. Their appearance marks the next part of our trail.
Occasionally, this is where we’ll run into our neighbor Frank, who might be walking his funny little Pug dogs Jethro and Ellie May, inspired by the show “Green Acres.” Our dogs generally do not get along, so we nod, and walk quickly away from each other in our separate ways.
This part of the trail was the most treacherous before the barbed-wire removal project. We either had to jump or brave rusted, threatening strands, shimmying around or underneath them. Neither were welcome prospects at the end of a nice hike and were in fact deterrents for a long time to walking in our woods at all.
This is also the steepest part of our land, where the trail had to be etched into the hill’s side a bit. When there is Autumn rain, the slippery fallen leaves make it almost unnavigable.
It is along this North-facing stretch that we can look down at the Springtree branch of Adam’s creek and see a maple here and there that we had tapped for syrup, and planted ginseng underneath. Both projects to date have not resulted in anything other than an increased awareness of how both are produced and we no longer balk at paying higher prices aware of the tasks’ difficulties. We still have the taps and buckets and the knowledge, so we haven’t ruled out trying again in a more optimistic future. This slippery slope of dreams leads to a path infested with privet and the gully just beyond seems to present an incredible habitat for butterflies and native plants. Both thrive here, where humans rarely tread.
Occasionally, I entertain the idea of introducing goats here (a la “Goatbusters”) to clear the privet away, but since I do not care for most Capricorns besides my husband, that’s probably not a good enough reason to make a production of it. Those thoughts, then, are short-lived. I prefer sheep, but I do not think they prefer privet. So, this overgrown portion of the property remains until we come up with a better plan. After being here for so long, I am beginning to think we won’t. At least the soil will be held in place by the invasive plant and deter drive-bys, and that is a good thing
Beyond this, we come again to the treehouse, this time to its back-side as opposed to its front door. The structure itself rests in one of the Maple trees that we had tried to tap, yielding no noticeable sap. Apparently the year we tried it, it was also the worst season ever for tapping. There’s always NEXT Spring, I guess.
Going past the treehouse on the left, there’s a small, now hidden path to Michael’s small Zen garden. It is a 3 x 6′ sand tray with a few large rocks, a bamboo rake and I am not sure how much Zen happens here. Probably not much, which, if you think about it is actually very Zen-like. Or not.
Back on the main trail, and veering to the left, the path becomes very steep again, and the woods become very dark, even on the sunniest of days. They are almost entirely pine and cedar here, with very little understory. Only needle litter and it has the feel of an overgrown Christmas tree farm. The path continues upward through it all, and lands you smack behind the chicken coop. (Not the best planning, but there it is). The day is exceptionally hot, and the chicken house is full. This can be unpleasant but if you remind yourself how good the morning’s omelet was, you can get over it pretty easily. Keep heading up the trail, toward the house, now clearly visible. If it is winter, you’ll head to a warm hearth inside, if its summer, a cool glass will be yours for the welcome.
If me and Michael are with you, we’ll probably mention at some point along the hikes (or right after it ends) that we’d love to make a “Medicine trail.” This is an idea we’ve had since we saw one in Belize, meaning fully-labeled plants for medicine along a trail. Its a rather simple idea, but our few attempts have become invisible; the labels disappeared, and based on our lack of enthusiasm for other signs of humans such as the yellow tape and “NO TRESPASSING” signs further downhill, it’s all just as well. (This was written in Fall 2007, I no longer live here. But I do have fond memories of this homemade trail and hope it still sees frequent use!-M.M.)
