In Pursuit of Wonder

February 11, 2023

The snow had melted some since a week ago, perhaps this will be my last chance to snowshoe. The days are getting noticeably brighter. I came out an hour earlier today but it seems just as bright as it did last week. The wind is fierce. I follow my snowshoe tracks from last week, admiring the windswept snowscape. I pass the familiar landmarks and arrive at the edge of the woods. The hairy woodpecker is hammering away. A single oak leaf rests on top of the snow. There’s a few black walnut trees. Following the fence line, I turn left and climb up the slope, passing the pile of concrete slabs. I pause a few moments to admire a clump of quaking aspen trees, so similar to paper birch. 

Past the aspens several feet, I drop to my hands and knees to crawl under the fence, appreciative of the cushioning of snow. I push past branches of scrubby trees and duck under others as I enter the woods. Skeletal remains of garlic mustard stand a few feet above the snow. I squeeze through a narrow opening in the buckthorn, crouching down to get through without being grabbed by the thorns. It’s thickets like this, though not of buckthorn, that my brothers and I would make into forts, already having essentially walls and a ceiling when the leaves were full. 

I continued down the slope, going further in. The trees opened ranks, making the going easier. Deer tracks indicated the paths through the woods. I noticed a few black cherry trees. The snow is deeper in the woods, I am glad. An artist’s conk mushroom, ganoderma applanatum, now gray, catches my attention. A ravine halts my progress, the same one as last week. This time, I sat and slid down the bank, avoiding falling. Another perk to winter exploring. 

I walked further downhill, well below the rock outcropping. Another ravine blocked my path, again, I scooted down on my backside. Ambling up the other side required effort but was still pleasant. (As soon as I entered the woods I could no longer feel the wind and was sweating by now.) I had to be mindful of each step, dead trees, logs littered the ground and I didn’t want to damage my snowshoes. A tree full of fan-shaped fungus drew my attention, possibly turkey tails. It is beautiful. Like butterflies resting on a tree. A tree grows horizontally; at some point, I would like to walk its length, but currently it is frosted in several inches of snow. I gaze upward into the bare tree limbs, an incredibly blue sky fills in the gaps between the scraggly branches. I am near another rock outcrop. I take a moment to touch and observe the scaly but beautiful bark of a black cherry tree.

Coyote tracks lead along the exposed bedrock. I follow, intrigued, ducking under fallen trees. Does the coyote have a den under the rock? I was unable to answer. I came to an old, rusty woven-wire fence – strange to think this steep hillside was grazed at one point. I tried to climb up onto the rocks here but couldn’t get a hold on anything solid in which to pull myself up. I turned around, still taking in the coyote tracks. I found an easier spot to climb up. Weaving my way through the trees, I continued up the slope to the single barbed wire fence. I dropped to my hands and knees, and crawled under. I observed coyote tracks inside my snowshoe tracks from last week. I followed my previous tracks along the fence line. Turning right, down the slope, past the walnuts, the boxelders and ash, up the slope near the tiny cedar, and along the pasture lane. I stepped over a couple of gates and then I was back in the yard. A couple of my nieces, visiting from Texas, were playing in the snow.

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