“On a morning in October, when a light mist hung over the pond, a mink appeared following this path beside the water’s edge. It ran in little spurts this way and that, alert, intense, tracing a weaving trail, turning aside, disappearing, reappearing, plunging into the water, swimming swiftly ...”

— Edwin Way Teale, A Naturalist Buys an Old Farm (1974)

An ancient Chinese philosopher once admonished his listeners to “Study the familiar!” Ancient Chinese philosophers were always admonishing people to do one thing or another. That was their job. Sometimes they even knew what they were talking about.

Usually I sit on the front deck of our house for a while after getting home from work. Then, before dusk, I normally retire to the kitchen area to listen to the radio while eating supper. One evening last week, however, I remained on the deck watching the evening shadows seep down into the valley. Just before dark, I spotted what at first appeared to be a flock of birds circling over the creek and pasture.

When writing about the natural world, I prefer to write about specific natural areas, plants, and animals here in the southern highlands. But from time to time I do like to pause and consider the philosophical aspects of comprehending the natural world. That’s when I invariably drag out my pet maxims: “Study the familiar,” “Go light,” “Don’t walk fast,” “Winter simplifies,” “Each trail has a life of its own,” and so on. A little bit of that sort of thing goes a long ways, so I air them out in public only when I can’t otherwise help myself.

For me, the fall season is one of the most invigorating times to get out in the woods and prowl around. Many of the most beautiful wildflowers found in the Blue Ridge, especially the lobelias and gentians, are then coming into their own.

Do you have chinquapins growing on your property or in your vicinity? If so, you’re fortunate. For my money, “the little brother of the chestnut” (as it’s sometimes called) is one of our more graceful and interesting plants, especially during the late summer months when their fruits are ripening.

The come back of the wild turkey in the southern mountains in recent years is one of the notable success stories in wildlife restoration. Thirty or so years ago, the sighting of a flock of wild turkeys was a rarity. Thanks to the combined efforts of the National Wild Turkey Federation and its local chapters, working in conjunction with federal and state wildlife agencies, such sightings — while always memorable — have become rather commonplace.

From time to time, I like to reflect upon the plant hunters, botanists and horticulturalists that first entered these mountains during the late 18th century to survey, collect, and propagate the unsurpassed floral riches of the region.

Scott Weidensaul, who lives in the mountains of Pennsylvania, is one of my favorite nature writers. His Mountains of the Heart: A Natural History of the Appalachians (Golden, CO: Fulcrum Publishing, 1994) has become one of the basic books about the natural history of the entire range of the Appalachians from Canada to Alabama. I’ve read most of Weidensaul’s books and was pleased to learn a few days ago that another has been published this year. I ordered a copy immediately via Amazon.com and await its arrival with anticipation.

Now is the perfect time to plan a mountain getaway excursion in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. One of the drives favored by many is the Blue Ridge Parkway to Balsam Mountain Campground Road and along Heintooga Ridge to the Round Bottom Road and Big Cove loop.