And a Whole Lot of Time

15,000 years ago, our farm (and the rest of New England) was covered with a sheet of ice a mile thick. As the glacier receded, it left behind barren rock, glacial till and valleys filled with lakes. The surface of New England had been scrubbed clean of whatever topsoil, earthworms, and megafauna that had lived here before. We had to completely start over from scratch.

Lichen recolonized the rock – while shrubs and moss grew along the shores of the glacial lakes that were left behind. Grasses filled in quickly (glacially speaking) creating a treeless tundra populated by ancient horses, dire wolves, giant beaver, camels, and migrating herds of mastodons, and wooly mammoths. The grass followed the melting ice and rain, and the grazing animals followed the grass. Small bands of nomadic humans followed them both, across the Bering Strait and into the Americas.

Within a few thousand years, Paleo-Americans were encamped on the Farmington River. The river provided an abundance of water and an assortment of fish, and the Metacomet Ridge (upon which Anne and I built our home) was the perfect elevated vantage point from which to spot the dust clouds that alerted hunters to the arrival of migrating herds. Around10,000 years ago, those ice age animals became extinct and were replaced by the more familiar caribou, white tailed deer, moose, bear and elk.

While we were building our barn on the ridge, I found a spear point which the State Archaeologist said was 4,000-6,000 years old. It’s in perfect shape, and I often wonder how it came to be left behind. Unlike Anne’s spate of missing sunglasses, I doubt it was simply misplaced or left on the hood of a car. It was most likely lost during a hunt or buried, with ceremony, alongside its rightful owner.

Heading out to feed the animals this morning, there was a dense fog blanketing the valley below. The fog followed the course and the bend of the Farmington River, from north to south and back up north again. As I watched from the ridge, the fog dissipated as the sun rose, and I was reminded of the glacier in retreat, and of how much has come and gone since then. From barren rock to fertile soils, from dire wolves to the paleo point I held in my hand. There’s an odd sense of serenity in knowing that we humans are but a tiny blip on this planet’s timeline, and that ultimately, she’ll be just fine without us. She has, in fact, moved on and started over, plenty of times before. All she needs is a little bit of lichen - and a whole lot of time.