But then, I made my way to a certain saddle where the woods suddenly opened and revealed an almost impossible scene. The saddle dropped gradually toward a small stream that was cutting its course through a narrow flat. And there, beneath sparse leaf litter, the forest floor was carpeted in grass, of all things. Tucked amid this huge tract of dense woods dominated by beech, maple, spruce, and pine stood an isolated grove of mature oaks, situated as though they'd been planted in a town park. My best guess is that it was once a farmstead--although I didn't see any old foundation, fences, or stone walls. What I did see, beneath a long, low-hanging hemlock bough that swept over the edge of the grove, was a fresh scrape.