Virgin forest, Ohio

Why do they have to call it that? I know, I know -- but come on. Here are a set of images from an outing the folks and Hazel and I took back on July 3 (anniversary of Taylor's death) -- down near Wooster where there's a tract of land (not so big, really) where, for one reason or another, no one ever has clear-cut or farmed or sliced into what is, by all accounts, a lone stand of trees that has been itself, untrammeled, since before the arrival of the white-skins (a word I'm borrowing from Herman Melville's Benito Cereno. I'm all poco lit these days, with that postcolonial-speak on the brain).

And then the clouds moved in and we ran like rabbits (though I had to pee like a racehorse!)

-- and dashed back to the car in time to watch the drops from inside --