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I wrote this on May 7, 2018 and I have no idea why it feels like I wrote it this morning, looking out my window and wondering what I was looking for. I’ve always done this, looked out my window and wondered why I was doing that, what was out there, what was I looking for? I grew up near stands of what passes in northeast Illinois for old-growth forest. The definition of “old-growth” is apparently a work in progress. I take it to mean a forest that was there before a particular part of the country was cleared and settled, and in northeast Illinois that was pretty late, around the 1830’s.* So these forests were named for local farm families that my family knew: Egermann Woods, Goodrich Woods, Greene Valley Woods. One forest that wasn’t named was behind our little farm — bottom of the hayfield, across the creek, and up a rise to the woods. The woods was shaded by the treetops, not much on the ground except leaves, big rocks, moss, some grasses I think, and for sure wildflowers: shooting…