Field Notes
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Field Notes: What I Saw at Dominion Beach – Field Notes from Cape Breton
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Hiking is more than movement--
it is connection. Connection with nature. Nature includes wildlife. Wildlife includes all forms. Alive. Injured. Or still. Last night, at Dominion Beach, Wide open spaces of sand. Cold but beautiful. Waves crashing on the shore. I met a seal. From a distance, life felt possible. Up close, it was quiet-- the kind of quiet that tells you life has moved on. White coats rest on these shores, waiting while their mothers hunt at sea, returning later to nourish what they’ve left behind. Young harp seals carry stories-- spots marking age, eyes not always open at first light, fur built to repel water, to glide through a moving world. Some say seals take too many fish. But the ocean does not agree. When life moves, water moves. When water moves, nutrients flow. When nutrients flow, everything grows - including fish. Nature has no favourites. It feeds all. There is always something to learn-- about balance and sharing - collaboration, compassion, cooperation about how life supports life. We need more of the smallest organisms to the largest in the sea. As I head home, I am grateful to walk these shores, to share them with others who feel the same quiet pull toward something bigger. Go outside. Learn how to - Live better. Feel better. Be better. Love nature. Protect it. Cherish it. |
Field Notes Summary – Dominion Beach
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Nature Field Notes: April 18 & 19, 2026
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Yesterday was perfect for a hike
Footprints and paws in fading snow Warmth of sunshine Today, however, awakens to rain Light but definite. Weather schedule looks promising But for a few hours. Meet up on time Dressed and ready to go Chatting waiting for others to arrive. The woods is always inviting. Fresh dew drips from branches Lush greenery abounds Tree wisdom surrounds. Salmon River flows Gentle with suds floating. The trail unwinds openly, inviting. Nature tools as far as I can see Sticks, acorns, rocks. Squirrels leave breakfast crumbs in plain view. Lichens cling to trees Moss covers the ground Hemlock needles carpet under canopy. Ravens overhead huddle together. The deer come to greet us. Carrot treats at the barn. Fog begins to form. Homeward bound for warmth. Another day is coming. |
Field Notes Summary
Context Morning hike at Two Rivers Wildlife Park Cool, damp conditions 7°C with light rain Landscape & Environment
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Nature Field Notes: April 15, 2026
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Winter still lingers
First signs of spring are quietly emerging. Indoors, zucchini is energetically pushing upward While onions stretch toward the light. Even I am eager for longer days. Outside, the earth is beginning to wake-- Small shoots are breaking through the soil Testing the air for warmth. Temperatures remain cool Yet the sun is trying harder each day Offering brief moments of comfort. Birdsong has returned, filling the air with life. Squirrels scamper for acorns Now clearly visible. Absent are large toothed flies—an early-season blessing. Snow is mostly gone Retreating leaving bare ground. Soil is still processing nourishment and ready for renewal. Tools of the season are put away My shovel just holding on, a reminder of winter’s toll. Tracks that once told stories have melted Replaced with signs of spring. Landscape is transitioning through quiet change. Nature is always magical-- Quiet, patient, and full of promise. |
Field Notes Summary – Mid April (Early Spring Transition)
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Nature Field Notes: Sunny Day, March 29, 2026
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The sun shines brightly
Weather on the other hand Cool, crisp, unwavering. Underfoot mud is ready to play Squishy imprints make way. Birds sing for a new day Because they always have a message. Rough is the bark Pine trees stand tall Acorn sits on top of soil Nature takes care of it's own. Negative ions ground my soul Living soul connects to living soul No words, just feeling Tip to toe, sky to root Energy surges. I am ready A new day emerges To fill my heart with love. |
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Nature Field Notes: Winter Hike, East Bay Hills, March 22, 2026
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Crunch, crunch, crunch -
White sand flexes Stillness in the air winter hanging around Tamarack points north Red maple stands with sugars Hemlock canopy makes way picnic areas await no moss, just needles making way for visitors Hues of sunset highlight beckoning to pause gaze at the horizon Up, up, up we go - into the mountain tops a bird's eye view unfolding Trees the best huggers Negative ions abound no time limit, no denial - just reach in arms stretched wide Yawn, yawn, yawn - the body softens breath deepens Fresh air fills my lungs Warmth lingers all night long. |
Field Note Summary:
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Nature Field Notes - March 14, 2026 - March Snow
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March snowfall brings
flake after flake-- soft, delicate crystals packing and mounting, blanketing the land. At zero degrees, spring quietly begs to appear, while winter lingers in quiet envy. Snow wraps gently around the branches, forming tiny snow angels and silent snowmen. Icicles drip slowly with nature’s bounty. Paws delight in the newly fallen snow, the air light and still. Snow glistens beneath the moonlight while silence fills the night with nature’s quiet music. |
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Nature Field Notes — February 12, 2026 - Midwinter Snow Storm
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It began like a mist --
the tiniest snowflakes falling almost without notice, except for the quiet piling on railings, vehicles, and earth, each flake reaching its destination. Another storm. To bed early, preparing to rise before dawn to shovel a path into the morning. Overnight, flakes increased in size and pace. Morning revealed a winter wonderland. Plows came early, widening the road, before snow fall then clearing paths, filling driveways one by one -- the most feared machine just as the driveway is finally cleared. The snow is heavy -- the packing kind, perfect for snow persons. A tiny one rests on the railing. Sunlight peeks around the clouds. Icicles hang. Drip, drip, drip. Winter is unpredictable. Big fluffy flakes fall for moments. Big flake, little snow. Little flake, big snow. One would think the opposite -- but nature is full of surprises. Steps are cleared. Space around the vehicle opened. Access easy -- until the end of the driveway, cemented in, creates a full stop. Rest is necessary after such a task. Hydration. A warm shower. A plow will return to free the final barrier. In the meantime -- dog snuggles as I work from home. |
Field Note Summary — February 12, 2026
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Nature Field Notes — Snowshoe Hike Feb 1, 2026
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We meet and head out.
The forest awaits — still, tall, and quiet. Soft snow and deep drifts cushion each step. Laughter carries easily through the trees. Snow-covered branches arch overhead. We pause to change the lead, breaking new trail together. At our destination, snacks come from pockets, small bites restoring energy. Bunny tracks stitch across the snow. Snowmobile trails cut through the landscape. A frozen lake rests to the left. Side steps around hidden puddles keep our boots dry. Then we turn back, and head home. |
Field Note Summary — Snowshoe Hike
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Nature Field Notes — Winter Hike Jan 31, 2026
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Two rivers run together.
Chatter of people carries along the trail. Snow falls softly from branches overhead. It crunches underfoot with each step. Wildlife tracks cross the path, stories written in passing. Footprints follow one another forward. Hot dogs and hot chocolate warm the soul on a cold winter day. Spirit connects with nature in shared breath and laughter. The sun filters through branches, canopies heavy with snow. Bodies feel refreshed in the crisp air. Snow angels mark moments of play. Dogs call out in the distance. Horses welcome a visit — warm puffs from their nostrils, small noses peering through the fence. Ravens overhead laugh their rattling calls. |
Field Note Summary — Winter Hike
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Nature Field Notes — Snowfall
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Cold air settles at –4 °C.
Fluffy snow falls delicately, filling in open spaces, mounting slowly. Walking feels easy, light — each flake unique in its brief descent. Then the wind takes over, pushing snowflakes hard toward the ground. Driving turns dangerous. Slip and slide. Slush takes control. Slow down. Pump the brakes. Overnight, the snowfall continues. Handrails collect soft ridges of white. Shoveling is a breeze. Paws scamper ahead, investigating the passing walker -- a friend? no. a foe? no. a passerby, simply. Inside, we cuddle. |
Field Note Summary — Snowfall
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Nature Field Notes — Winter Walk
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The weather turned cold overnight.
Car windows frosted over. A light, fluffy layer of snow covers the ground. Birds fly happily above as I walk and watch. Snow blankets railings, steps, and branches. Nature is full of wonder; I wonder how the birds survive when we struggle to keep up. Frozen stems glint along the path. Ice crunches underfoot, demanding careful steps. The dog scampers to investigate new snowfall. New scents invisible to me but drawing paws in. Cloudy skies hang overhead; still, no wind. The air is brisk. Gloves on. I welcome the new day. |
Field Note Summary — Winter Walk
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Nature Field Notes - Training Day Jan 18, 2026Striped maple stands quiet among winter trunks.
Brain fungus clings to a red maple, folded and coral-like. Fungi scatter through the woods: hoof fungus on birch, pale and firm birch polypore, layered turkey tail, and chaga blackened like burnt bark. Deer scat presses into the leaf litter. Fox tracks stitch a careful line through snow and mud. A white rabbit—sudden and brief—flickers through the underbrush and is gone. The ground is covered in a thin layer of snow, rain drops imprinted like tiny craters. The lake lies frozen and white. An overcast sky stretches above in muted hues of grey, white, and blue. And beneath it all, the low hum of civilization—faint, persistent—reaches even here, beyond the trees. |
Field Note Summary — Training Day
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Nature Field Notes — Forest Bathing, New Year’s Eve Dec 31, 2025A stump suspended high in a tree — a Fiona remnant that hasn’t yet fallen.
Witch’s butter, orange and almost giggly, yet frozen in place. Mushrooms suspended in winter’s freeze. Tree rings revealed in cut stumps, time made visible. Birch polypore waits on a stump, as if expecting a squirrel to pause and sit awhile. The long, winding path invites us to carry on, sunbeams flooding through from above. The sun bursts forth, bright, illuminating the branches of pine, fir, and spruce. Different species of ferns lay down their greenery for winter. Ice patches freeze over puddles and cling to the edges of the road. A freshly toppled tree, brought down by wind, exposes its inner beauty — smooth knots and layered wood hidden beneath the rough exterior of balsam bark. My hands tuck into my mittens, warming as the air stays fresh. Tree hugs draw the forest’s scent close. The silent power of trees feels steady and enduring. |
Field Note Summary — Forest Bathing
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Nature Field Notes — Forest Bathing
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Phone batteries didn’t make it through the walk — unable to compete with beauty meant to be felt, not just seen.
Deer prints scampered across the path. Cat tracks moved from trail to trail, purposeful and light. Norwegian pine cones lay fallen, freshly frozen. A squirrel sits low on a branch, quietly still, waiting for the dog to pass. It allowed me to witness its being as I moved by — no words, just a moment of shared presence. Connections with wildlife, brief and unspoken, feel especially precious. |
Field Note Summary —Forest Bathing
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Nature Field Notes - Forest Bathing at the Ocean
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The lake lies quiet and still.
Cattails stand tall — some compressed tight, others sprung open, shaggy and white. Fields flood from a recent rainstorm, reflections flickering across the water’s surface. A clearing in the marsh, where nature sheds what does not belong. Red leaves scattered among yellow mammoth growth. Tall wheat grasses dusted with cinnamon-colored shards. A fish out of water. Red rosehips cling to thorns. Balsam branches carry hues of green and brown. Cranberries scatter where floodwaters recede — a floating patch not yet frozen. Bay berries appear frozen yet waxy, leaves dried and brown. Marshlands overfilled with water. Tree roots walk along the lake bed, exposed and winding. The current runs strong; white foam rushes past. The gut opens to the ocean, waves mixing with the lake, allowing fish to travel freely between the two. Paw prints scamper as a nose searches every grain of sand. The ocean roars — waves crash and roll over rock and washout, my favorite song. Water sprays high. White, fluffy clouds fill the blue sky. Seaweed is thrown ashore. High tide rushes in and out. No turtles on beach patrol — relief and joy knowing they made it back to the Gulf of Mexico. |
Field Note Summary — Forest Bathing
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Nature Field Notes — Forest Bathing
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A Norwegian pine cone waits for me on the trail.
A waterfall, small yet gushing with pride. Squirrels chirp hello as I pass by. White pine needles scatter beneath their tree, nourishing the soil as they blanket the earth. Open spaces appear where trees have uprooted but not fallen. Witch’s butter, false chanterelles, and bracket fungus mark the damp wood. Old man’s beard lichen waves in the wind. Stumps are filled with the leftovers of a squirrel’s banquet. Three wise birch trees stand in a row. A stump carries conks. Trees show bulges — signs of old injury or possible infection. Spruce sap oozes, then hardens. Leaves have fallen from the birch trees. Old piles of stumps provide shelter and habitat for wildlife. Turkey tail clings to dead branches. Chanterelle trumpets appear farther down the trail. Red mountain ash berries burst with color. Snow is sprinkled lightly on stumps, like icing sugar. Flowers have turned to fluff, too cold now to scatter. Leaves fill the path, protecting it and the insects living within. A tree root steps out from the trunk, covered with acorns. Rocks are cloaked in moss. Tree trunks point direction, as Indigenous teachings describe. Red-stem moss and star-shaped sphagnum cling close to the ground. Bubbles form in gently flowing water. The Salmon River gushes by. |
Field Note Summary — Forest Bathing
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