Elemental Energy

The sun has just crept over the horizon, shooting beams of morning light across the misty skies of Blackberry Farm as if a visual cue to say, rise and shine. It’s a brisk winter morning, and I soak in the faint warmth as I sip coffee in the rocking chair on my cottage porch. I’m up early to join Joy Hopkins, the adventure manager at Blackberry Farm, on a hike. Just beyond my door lies nine miles of trails that crisscross the rainforest-like creek bottoms and sylvan ridgetops hidden amid acres of wooded mountains.

I watch the steam rise from the mug that warms my hands and notice how my breath condenses into small, fog-like clouds. I briefly feel the pull of the fireplace back in my room. It would be easy to curl up by the crackling flames on this gray winter day. But instead, I pull on layers and lace up my hiking boots, motivated by Joy’s enthusiasm from the day before. Winter, she shared, was a special time to explore the woods. It’s the quiet season, when the subtle, almost unnoticed energy of nature, is at work.

As we set off toward the park, I sense her excitement in the tone of her voice and twinkle of her eyes. This is a woman who loves the outdoors. “Some guests don’t want to get outside in the cold, but I always remind them that hiking is one of the best ways to warm up,” she says. “You build warmth from the inside. Your body becomes a little furnace until that heat reaches your skin, and right before you start to sweat, you want to take off the gloves and hat and recalibrate your inner thermostat.”

Her wisdom manifests itself as we start toclimb uphill, and I reach to remove my beanie. In the distance, I hear the rush of water. Joy explains that recent rains have left the river higher than usual. The faster flow creates little eddies among the rocks that act like whirlpools sucking fallen leaves into their centers. The sun, now fully risen, pokes light through the tree branches onto the river, sending sparkles rippling across the surface like an electric current. The fish are asleep below, but the birds above are wide awake and full of song. Joy’s ears perk up at what sounds like the squeak of sneakers across a basketball court. That single note is followed by a tune Joy describes as prettier than the music of a robin. “Birdwatching has a way of unclogging your ears in order to open your eyes,” she tells me, just as the singer comes into sight.

We continue on down a shaded path, each footstep sending out a vibration that acts as a warning to forest critters up ahead. Unlike the riotous celebrations of color that blanket the trails in autumn, summer and spring, winter feels more subdued. Yet it’s that monochromatic backdrop that makes any small bit of color pop, like the solitary deep green leaf of a dormant Adam and Eve orchid that Joy spots on the forest floor. “By spring, those leaves disappear,” she says. Nearby, a different leaf catches Joy’s eye. She waves me over, then smiles with delight as she recognizes three more distinct types of vines twisting around a tree branch. “This is why I love the forest,” she says. “You stop for a second to look at one thing and then discover three more.”