Roundrock is at the end of the road. Fallen Timbers is along the side of a road that continues. About half of our southern boundary is defined by this road, until it turns sharply to the south to keep on its merry way. The remainder of our southern boundary continues down a gentle slope among some large oaks. It was down that gentle slope that our feet took us on the beginning of our hike. The slope is not all that steep, and after a hundred feet or so, the ground levels under the big trees and the hiking is pleasant. When we first bought this land, more than a decade ago, this area was so free of understory that we could drive the big green truck into here and park at our southeast corner. We couldn't do that now, though without too much effort I think the way could be cleared again. We dreamed of building a greenhouse in this corner, but it would have been so far from the site where we planned to place the house that it seemed impractical, as many dreams are. The property adjoining ours to the southeast here changed hands a few years ago. As part of that effort, they had their lines surveyed. We'd already had our corner marked, but the surveyors flagged our post. They may have also paused for a rest that involved removing clothing because when we visited the spot sometime later, we found an orange vest on the ground. That vest soon became part of the markings on the corner post. It's not very pretty, but it's visible. It was a fine day to be in the forest. We saw a small flock of robins darting through the trees. Back in suburbia it's easy to think that a robin is a solitary bird, but they do flock in the winter, and the few times I have seen robin flocks has been at Fallen Timbers. I suppose there is something about our forest that these insect eaters favor. Long before our tenure, this part of the Ozarks ran cattle. For a long time, free-ranging was the accepted practice, but eventually the concept of restraining your own beasts rose and barbed-wire fencing did was well. There are a number of trees in our forest that sport strands of wire that have been absorbed as the tree grew. Our eastern boundary was once fenced, but most of that has fallen to the ground and been lost in the leaf litter. As we hiked along here, not altogether certain where the true property line was, we watched for large trees that might have barbed-wire emerging from them. Libby spotted them more often than I, but when we did, we always flagged them with a bit of orange tape. I'm not sure if the old fence marks the true property line -- probably not -- but it does show a good-faith attempt at approximating it. Our next destination was the northeast corner, one that is not as straightforward as you might think. Our northern line is "defined" by a standing fence. During our tenure the fence has been snapping here and there, but no one seems to find since there isn't any livestock to contain. The problem is that the fence doesn't follow the actual property line. As it goes to the east, it climbs the hill. The actual corner is down the hill, which is steep. My guess is that the rancher had the fence follow the rise of the hill so that any cattle on the south side of it would not have the chance to stumble down the steep hill, and any cattle north of it would not bother to climb the steep hill. In any case, the fence stops at a big stump, and we've always considered that our northeast corner, but it isn't. The true corner is down that hill. The steep one. The area of land that is technically our property on the north side of the fence comprises about an acre, and in the years and years that I've stomped around Fallen Timbers, my feet have never touched this acre. So on this visit I thought the time had come. (Actually I was secretly wishing that there was a cave in that steep hill. I cannot see the face of the hill from the top of it -- it's that steep, and I thought if not a cave, perhaps an overhang or something.) So while Libby prudently stayed on top of the hill (to fetch help?), I began my slow and careful descent down the 70º slope. I mostly went from tree to tree, holding on to the one uphill while I reached for the one downhill, letting my boots slide across the loose Ozark gravel, questioning the wisdom of such a descent with an ascent still to come. But I lived to tell the tale. I made it to the bottom, snapping nary an ankle. And what did I see? Mostly scrub. Prime tick and chigger habitat had the season been right. I also saw a barbed wire fence runing north and south here, separating my piece of land from me. Fortunately for me, the deadfall from all of the winter storms last year had breached the fence, and in about the same time it takes to tell, I was back in my patch of woods, treading on ground I had never been on before. There were no caves or overhangs. There were lots of ferns. Many stumps. (I guess the loggers don't have any problems with steep slopes.) Lots of loose gravel. Fallen trees. Rocks. Pretty much just like what I see in the rest of the forest. It was about this time that I began to reconsider my ambition of continuing on to the northwest corner. It would be easy going from here, with a fence to guide my steps, but the return to the truck from there would have taken us through some of the most overgrown and impassable acreage we have. Plus there was the problem of Libby still be up the hill, waiting for some direction from me. Having seen this mysterious part of my land after so long, I was satisfied, and I decided to begin my climb back to Libby. I took it at an angle, making the slope more manageable, but the loose gravel still laid in wait for me boots. And the ferns could be slippery when they chose to. Dear reader, will it surprise you to learn that I did make it up that hill? That I did rejoin Libby? That we did begin the half-mile walk back to the truck (still at the highest point of our land)? Missouri calendar:

• American goldfinches begin molting into bright breeding plumage.

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