In Pursuit of Wonder

January 16, 2023

Saturday morning at 7:30 am, I went for a long overdue walk. (I used to walk at least three hours a week, especially in the winter time and probably up to six hours – a habit I desperately need to pick up again.) I walked out the back (west) door, turned left and cut diagonally across the backyard to the driveway and gravel road, which was a bit icy. I crossed the road and assessed my options. – straight ahead, I would be plunging down the steep ditch, wading through deep snow and the beef cows were possibly in that field. Instead, I continued walking along the road, up a hill and then veering  to my left, before reaching the top, through ankle deep, dirty snow, to a gate. (As I walked along the road the wind was whipping at me, chilling my chin and making my nose and eyes water.) I unhooked the top wire of the gate, and stepped over the bottom wire. Everything was covered in a layer of frost. The sun was rising and trying to chase away the clouds. I enjoyed the beauty of the frost, especially on the trees, being refreshed by it. I turned left, walking down the slope to the shallow valley pasture. I veered right, stepped over a gate, badly in need of repair. Tucked in the valley, heading north, I no longer felt the chill of the wind. I was hoping to see and maybe even photograph a coyote, especially with my new 600 mm lens. I followed along the fence line, observing animal tracks. Snowshoes probably would have been a good idea, most of the time I only sank into the snow half an inch or so but every once in a while I sank several inches. Deer and coyote tracks ran the width of the pasture. (I had to step over another string wire fence and then over a barbed wire fence.) A peninsula of trees, boxelder, oak, and juniper pulled me forward. I walked up a hill a little bit toward a tiny cedar tree that had signs of lots of activity around it. It grew on a fence line. I had been taking photos with the 600 mm lens but I switched to my shorter lens since I was too close to the cedar tree and the peninsula of trees- although I was seeing a lot of coyote tracks I figured it was already too late in the day for them to be out and about. I didn’t need the long lens now anyway; I could always switch lenses again.

I continued past the little cedar, to the left, skirting the fence, down the slight incline, approaching the peninsula of trees. The snow covered trees were so beautiful, I reveled in them for a moment. The golden seed pods on the boxelder tree added variety to the winter scenery. Pieces of the pods littered the snow all around the tree, I found it stunning. There were a few rabbit tracks. After taking in this cluster of trees, I continued walking. Drawing near to the woods, they looked much different than when I was last here in October. I paused by the fence, photographing the woods that had been too overgrown with brambles for me to walk in. Broken pieces of walnuts speckled the ground, leftovers from a squirrel. I heard a noise. What was that? A squirrel chewing on a nut? No, it wasn’t quite the right sound. I gazed up at the trees, searching the branches. And then I saw it, a hairy woodpecker drilling in a tree trunk. I was transfixed for several moments. I enjoyed the uplifting effects of just being near the trees, on a walk, and listening to birds going about their day. I had turned left along the fence line, going west a few steps, then turning right, to continue following the fence line north and nearer to the woodpecker’s tree. But before I had made it very far westward, I took my eyes off the woodpecker for a few moments debating whether or not to put the long lens back on my camera to photograph the woodpecker. As I was considering it, I looked again into the woods. Suddenly, a coyote ran silently through the trees. Staring in awe, I once again missed the opportunity to photograph a coyote. But that was ok, just seeing it was incredible and healing. It was so beautiful! Fluffy, sleek, three tone coat. A bushy tail. It reminded me of my dog, Aldo – playful, sly, and intelligent. The creature ran up the incline out of the shallow, wide ravine, where it paused, perhaps assessing me. All but its legs and paws were hidden from view by the trees. And then it was gone. The moment we shared was amazing. I don’t think it would have mattered if I had the long lens on because I would have moved too slowly. It took me a few minutes to collect myself before moving onward. I enjoyed the bird songs, wishing I could identify them. Not too far past the woodpecker tree, I began to climb up a slight hill but halted just before the top, by a pile of broken, old concrete. I noticed holes in the snow, doorways leading to tunnels to perhaps a den – what sort of creature lives here? Gophers? Ground squirrels? A weasel? There were no tracks even though it appeared habitants were coming and going. I continued ambling up the slope, staying close to the fence peering into the woods, enjoying the presence of the trees without going into the woods. There were a few squirrel tracks but a lot of rabbit tracks and a coyote trail. I love winter – it’s beautiful, calm, and quiet, and refreshing. When I was a child, I loved summer best and would worry about getting through winter (I have no idea why). But as an adult, I have come to love winter (as long as snow is in abundance). For one thing, you can read snow like a newspaper. Also, I find the cold refreshing — although it really hasn’t been cold this winter. The trees were just so beautiful. The walk was invigorating and delightful. I sank into deep snow a few more times. I grew still, wondering what to do next, near a paper birch tree. Even though I could and would love to keep walking, I turned around and headed back. 

Today, since I didn’t have to milk this morning, I headed out for a walk at 8:00. I decided not to take the 600 mm lens because it was heavily overcast, even considered leaving my camera behind altogether but I couldn’t do that. I stepped outside, into the backyard, wait, it’s raining! I wavered, perhaps I should leave the camera behind, I turned and took a few steps back to the house, but then unzipped my coat a little and stuck my camera inside and zipped it back up. I was fascinated by the way water droplets clung to my coat. The snow was soft, making each step much more work than it had been on Saturday. But I needed the walk so I kept going; somewhat retracing my steps from Saturday. I wouldn’t see a coyote in the rain, but that’s alright. Stepping over a couple of gates and a fence. The tracks are less distinctive now. I have walked in the rain a few times but this was the first time I had done so in January. It wasn’t miserable though perhaps it sounds like it should have been – I was wearing snow pants, a winter coat, hat, boots, and mittens, dressed to be waterproof and since it was thirty five degrees, I was hot and sweaty. The sky and ground weren’t quite the same color, not like a day last week where there seemed to be no horizon because the ground and sky were both snowy white. Raccoon tracks nestled inside my tracks from Saturday, sometimes alongside but most often right on top of mine. It was delightful. Nearly every step this time, I was postholing, sinking past the ankles. The landscape looked sad this time, not magical like it had under the spell of the frost on Saturday. I still paused at the little cedar. Despite the fact that rain in January isn’t pleasant, it really needs to be snow, the sound of it was still beautiful and relaxing. As I neared the woods, I was surprised to hear a variety of bird songs. I looked up trying to see the singers, but there were only brief flashes of them. However, the hairy woodpecker was working over the tree as before. 

Onward along the edge of the woods, I was amazed at how much the snow had melted around the pile of concrete blocks, the city’s presence now less noticeable. The slight incline was more difficult to summit in the soft snow. How could the snow have melted so much and yet along the fence line, I sank several times up to my knees. I decided to walk in the woods for a little bit. I found an opening in the trees, probably a game trail. I had just sunk to my knees again, staying in that posture, I crawled under the fence. It provided further connection with the place — I feel it and interact differently. I crawled several feet, between trees and under branches, before I stood up again. The woods just seem so peaceful. Even in the rain, I felt like I could linger for hours. I ducked under tree branches, pushed past others; stepped over logs, taking care to not trip since the snow cover made it tricky. I thought I heard movement — a deer perhaps? A squirrel was jumping from branch to branch. I was so tempted to linger, or at least keep walking in the woods longer, but I wanted to be back in the house when Jesse got in so we could have breakfast together. I angled back toward the fence line, and up the hill, stepping over logs. — Torn between wanting to keep walking and getting back to the house. Down on hands and knees under the fence, trying to follow in my footsteps except for where I sank, but it didn’t matter because I continued to sink up to my knees. Back along the pasture, stepping over fence and gate; skating on the driveway. I had been out for an hour — not at all chilled by the rain. Perhaps soon, I’ll be out for several hours at a time. 

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