December 29

Fred had used the tractor to clear some of the sumac and briar from the lower ground next to the western fields, in an area that seeps moisture in even the most dry summer stretches. This acre has been fallow for several years, allowing these early colonizers to take hold and thrive, the briars notably so to the point that walking through has been nearly impossible.

Now there is access to the woods beyond, where the land dips into a valley formed by run off from the artesian spring. On still days, it is possible to hear the flow of the water from a hundred yards away, coming from within the folds of the small valley. On winter days, when the snow lies deep and the temperatures stay well below freezing, it is a curious sound to hear the running water.

It emerges from a six-inch pipe that rests within a rock shelf, clear water that flows neither forcefully nor feebly but steady, dropping roughly two feet into a small basin before making its way down slope toward Pine Hill Reservoir – a third of a mile through the deep woods.

On either side of the pipe edge, affixed to the lip in a mass and tumbling over and down six inches is a bright lime colored grouping of moss, striking now against the muted color of stone and brown leaves.

The water is crystal clear, cold, and wonderful to drink. It was a lifesaver for us five years ago this December, when the ice storm knocked out power for over a week.