t's sunrise—and I perch on a kayak that rests on the dock of Royal Fern Camping Platform. Subtle pastels intensify before me into deep pinks, roses and oranges, finally bleaching into a whitewash of morning light. The damp of morning lies like a quiet blanket over all, pierced first by the sound of woodpeckers. Then, as light penetrates shadowy pockets in the woods, squirrels stir, descending from their high perching nests. There is a flutter of duck wings in the distance.

Three friends on the platform behind me snooze contentedly in their tents, as a fourth sits reading, experiencing her own pleasure of early morning on Conaby Creek. It is a good time for reflection, and my thoughts run backward over our weekend here on this lovely creek. We put in where highway 45 crosses Conaby. It was mid morning and the golden autumn sunshine sparkled on the water, gently warming a pleasantly cool day. As we paddled downstream the widening creek filled with a stiff breeze challenging our progression. Such exertion only increased our pleasure of finding the finger of creek leading to this camping platform, where I now perch.

As we entered the sheltering bay our canoes glided from choppy water to a surface turned glass-like. Great baldcypress towered high above us, while also sweeping toward us on mirrored water—as we paddled the reflection of these trees and a forest accented with fall colors swirled with each stroke.

That evening, when most all had turned in, I sat talking with one friend who is a nurse. The moon was nearly full, casting long shadows in the forest. A chattering sound started as a distant murmur, then grew in intensity coming ever closer like a wave coming to shore. It nearly reached us then died out again. Perhaps distant treefrogs were calling, the tempo carried on by others—it was enchanting.

This was the second trip on the Roanoke River Paddle trail for my friend. Her job is an intense one, of nursing very sick children. This is a place where she can shed the stress of daily life. The water, trees, wildlife seem timeless to her.

Pinned on her bulletin board at work she keeps a picture of her paddling our river, it is a source of cheer when work is especially tense. She finds it comforting to know that this place is always here, a harbor of enduring beauty. As I sit and watch the dawn of this new day with such contentment it is clear to me just how she feels.

Backyard Briefs
A syndicated weekly column 
By Judy Jessop, Nature Conservancy Volunteer