On the Ice Age Trail

Sunday afternoon being sunny, calm, and beautiful, Mr. M and I decided to walk a short stretch of the Ice Age Trail.

The Ice Age Trail, a 1000-mile footpath in Wisconsin, highlights the "landscape of remarkable beauty" sculpted by the flow of glacial ice across this area in millennia past.

Oak leaves rustle underfoot and the afternoon sun is casting warm shadows on our steps:

The path is bounded on one side by the Fox River and its marshy outliers. Entire fields of dried flowers (thistle?) stand soaking up the sun.

We pass a barkless tree with immense mushrooms, like steps or plates, growing at intervals up the trunk. This one was about 8" across...

...with a vine growing right through it. I don't know what kind of mushroom this may be - a quick internet search suggests an oyster mushroom. There are no gills under the cap, as you can see from the photo below:

(Any mycologists out there who can help?)

Where the trail is not carpeted with oak leaves, it's covered with a charming mosaic of tiny mosses, dead grass, and nut hulls (and a dandelion defying the frosts):

More dried blossoms:

A shadow shot with lacy birch over warm fall-tinted fields....

A bit of glacial info for the curious rambler...

...explaining how the hills in this area, called drumlins, were shaped by the repeated flow of glaciers through the state.

Don't you love to stand at the base of a tall tree and look up, up, up, at the sky between the branches?

Our shadows fall on a clump of red-twig dogwood, and Mr. M waves to the camera:

I never can resist a shot of dried goldenrod:

The trail goes on for miles, but Mr. M's stamina runs out rather quickly; time to retrace our steps.

Over a little footbridge...

...between the fields of summer gone...

...under marker trees...

...through deep drifts of leaves...

...past sumac-trimmed river beds edged with hazy red...

...and up to the road where our car is parked, and Mr. M waits for me to finish taking pictures. :)

Just a few more shots, Mr. M. I have to snap the glassy river, like a mirror winding through forest and field. To the south, dim and blue and shaded by overhanging trees:

To the north, scalloped and bearing lacy trim of bare tree and glowing brush:

On the way home, we pass a pond covered with resting geese. Most of them have their heads tucked under their wings and are already settled in for a good night's sleep:

No troublesome clock-changing for trees and birds, just sunrise and sunset and the turn of the seasons. A good way to live.

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