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I've spent the passed week in Front Royal, Virginia at the Smithsonian-Mason School of Conservation taking a class on wildlife genetics.  The course has allowed me to take a big step forward in understanding the possibilities of working with DNA to answer questions related to wildlife conservation and ecology.  And  like so many opportunities that come to pass when working in this field, it has afforded me the chance to come to a place renown for its natural beauty.  The school is located in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains at the northeastern edge of the Shenandoah National Park.  Although the pace and rigor of the course (often times going at it for 13 hours/day) has precluded me from venturing into the surrounding hills for any substantial period of time, I have been able to escape in the early morning hours for a handful of runs.

Not to mention the fact that the 3200 acre grounds house breeding programs for (and the opportunity to view) some of the most critically endangered mammals and birds on the planet (cheetahs, clouded leopards, red pandas, maned wolves, Przewalski's horses, white-naped cranes), this place and the surrounding Shenandoah region hold captive my naturalist heart.

This morning I got out with a short window of time to run before having to report to class.  In a pinch for time I figured I would take full advantage of the topography in order to maximize the benefit of my exercise.  To the north of campus (built upon an old military installation) there is a large hill called Racetrack Hill where rugged United States military men from centuries passed would engage in equine sport.  And as it happens, an oval shaped, mowed hilltop is a convenient place to run.  I had come up here briefly on a run a few days prior and watched the physical repercussions of what was unquestionably a large, fast-moving snake slide through some tall grass along an old stone wall.  Like a child, I ran after the moving grass.  But as in waking from a dream where some wonderful fleeting feeling escapes...the snake got away before I could glimpse it.

Needless to say I was eager to return to Racetrack Hill. I spent the rainy morning running laps around the primitive track.  I was soon lost in the place.  Hayed hillsides giving way to rolling hardwood forests, lingering fog obscuring the rounded peaks, lone purple thistle rising from the grass, swallows zipping overhead.  All of this appealed to a deep seated sense of place.  A distant sense of home.      

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