A Patient Artist

Finally some really cold weather settled into the Piedmont of North Carolina…for a couple days anyway. And by “really cold” I mean it stayed below freezing for 45 whole hours. If you live in Florida, that sounds cold. If you live in Minnesota, that sounds like spring.

I wanted to see some ice-rimmed river-water…you know, for proof it is actually winter here. From the bedroom window, the creek looked to be running free, trickling over the rocks, not frozen in time. A short drive downtown, near the few folks shivering at the farmers market, I sought the edges of the Eno. The footpath crunched under my boots. Much of the Eno flowed quiet and free. A reminder that our winter is not fierce.

The last time I had walked the path to the Indian fields it was early Spring. The trees were bare then as now. Much looked the same. I have missed two seasons along this route. I missed the spiders, the mosquitoes, and the poison ivy. Now, as I crunched down the path, looking for ice, I realized it is a good time to be out. A muskrat hole, usually hidden under a low tangle of briers, became exposed as warm moist air escaped the depths to condense and hang amongst the brambles…an icy chandelier marking the hole. I saw several of these, but no muskrats. I continued down the path, stepping beside deer tracks in the frozen mud.

Then finally I reached a stretch of slow water in the shadow of a north facing bluff. Here the ice held anchor to a river rock and jutted thinly into the cool current. Winter is a patient artist.

White Tufted Hemlock Groves

I got to play Mountain Man this Christmas! Honestly, I was just playing. We spent a week up in Pennsylvania with 8 inches of snow and a fire in the fireplace 24/7. I fantasize about that life, don’t you? No? Maybe? Well, the jolly old fellas who wrote Jingle Bells and White Christmas sure did. And since they crafted all those cleverly cozy rhymes along with rolling melodies, and then finally hooked up with the Hallmark Company, I’ve been suckered since childhood.

I don’t think it’s only the music’s fault though. I probably have to blame...err, thank Marty Stouffer of Wild America. As a restless kid I could sit on the couch in front of the TV in Oklahoma with a warm bowl of spaghettios on my lap and simultaneously track an elusive wolverine through the deep snows of the Rocky Mountains. I’m not sure why it appealed so much to me other than for the grand imagination of childhood, together with the mystical footage of far off (to me) wild lands. Though it was probably due to some subliminal marketing scheme, or simply Marty’s mildly patriotic, wide eyed parting salutation to “Enjoy Our Wild America!”

So I find myself now, always giddy at the first hint of prolonged cold and snow. Being on vacation helps deepen the satisfaction. I don’t have to get up early in the morning if I don’t want to. Or I can get up early, track a few wolverines, then come home and sleep in front of the fireplace for the rest of the day.

On this trip, we did it all: Hiked in early morning snow, followed deer trails through fields, huddled under white tufted hemlock groves, flew down snow-packed roads on wooden sleds, crafted grapevine wreathes collected from the thick woody hedges, watched wild grouse cross the street, made snow angels, made snowmen, knocked old apples out of the trees for the deer to eat, stood on the high ridge overlooking the valley, and fed a steady supply of seasoned hardwood into the stoves to light and warm our loft.

I acknowledge it as play. I did not toil and labor on the land we wandered. Not this time. Someone else had before me. Thank you.

But Yet I Keep Looking

A few notes this January:

1. This blog is one year old this January 2009. Which means I've covered one cycle of seasons. Which in North Carolina, USA, is four seasons, each distinct enough to provide enough inspiration for diverse commentary, if I'm paying attention.

2. As Joni Mitchell sang "the seasons, they go round and round", and you can probably expect similar observations from me this year.

3. I try to make this interesting, at least to me, so I'll try to point out some unique observations...though I might repeat myself. I mean really, I can look at the same stuff over and over again, even seemingly boring stuff, and still be amused. Heck I could look at a campfire every night of the week and remain entranced for hours. And what really could I write to distinguish the physical properties of each of those fires? Not much. But yet I keep looking. And so I write in order to figure out why I keep looking.

Happy New Year