Every moment of our lives adds up to the people we are today, but some of those moments have a bit more of an impact.  There's that turning point when you realize what you want to do with the rest of your life.

Spring is here!  Well, sort of.  Technically, spring doesn't start for another six weeks. But some stoic Yankees say that winter begins in New Hampshire when you start stacking your wood pile in late August.

To many, Mass Audubon Joppa Flat’s Superbowl of Birding might seem like utter madness; it is a 12 hour (5am to 5pm) birdwatching competition held in January in Rockingham County, NH and Essex County, MA.

Happy Shortest Day of the Year! That sounds a lot better than moping about the longest winter night, doesn’t it? Yet that’s what December's Winter Solstice brings: the longest hours of darkness and the shortest hours of daylight in the entire year.

On bitter-cold January nights, water trapped beneath tree bark expands and freezes with an audible “pop!” Sub-zero temperatures rupture tiny tubes comprising the “xylem” layer which is arranged like bundles of microscopic drinking straws, the innermost ring of tubes in the sapwood. That audible …

"How come we never seem to see many animals when we’re hiking?”

It’s a familiar lament from those who wish to get more out of precious free time enjoying the peace of the forest and freedom of the hills. I’ve got a few time-tested and simple tips to help maximize your chances to …

The Washburn land has a multi-generational history as a working forest. The Washburn siblings’ father Reuben Washburn and his business partner George Hann first began purchasing timberland in the 1940s and early 1950s for what became the Washburn Lumber Company.

It never fails to amaze me when the first ruby-throated hummingbird returns to the front porch where we hang a sugar water feeder in late spring.

To the Thawing Wind

"Come with rain, O loud Southwester! Bring the singer, bring the nester…" - Robert Frost, from A Boy's Will 1913

Weary of hauling maple, ash and oak to the woodstove by late winter, I pass beneath a fragile nest of moss and mud perched in the eaves of the …