At Hillman, the woods gives way periodically to these strange valleys, broad and treeless. I'm pretty sure they were strip mines in their day. There's a melancholy beauty to them, especially in the blustery days of early autumn, when the skies are moody, the earth is pungent with decaying leaves, and a hint of winter is on the air.
It was definitely a trek on the "road less traveled" to discover this far flung spot. But the grass was springy and rich. The whole great clearing was surrounded by lovely gray birches, the likes of which you rarely see this far south into Pennsylvania. It was a quiet place and serene. Now that October is upon us, I'll be sharing these sylvan scenes with hunters.
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