In Pursuit of Wonder

February 25, 2023. 

Early in the week there was talk of a huge snowstorm for Wednesday evening and blizzard conditions into Thursday. Six to twelve inches of snow was predicted. I didn’t believe it, not wanting to get my hopes up. Early Thursday morning, Jesse and I stepped outside, the light on the side of the house cast a cool glow on inches of fresh, dense, heavy, wet snow. Flakes swirled in the gusting wind. As we waded in the fresh snow, slipping and sliding, I said, “Well, I guess I better not go for a walk this morning in these conditions.” 

Jesse replied lightly, “No, I forbid it.” Our golden retriever, Aldo, stopped frequently to catch mouthfuls of it. Some drifts crossing the yard were over four feet tall. It was impossible to measure how much snow we received but probably towards the higher end of what was predicted. 

After morning milking, the snow stopped falling and the wind died down a bit to a breeze instead of a gale. Jesse said I should go on that walk after all. Back at the house, I strapped on my snowshoes and wound my way around and up over the impressive snowdrifts. Both gates taking me through to the pasture lane were buried in fresh snow. The sky was only a shade or two darker than the snow blanketed ground. Huge flakes still fell. Breathless almost instantly, this was perhaps the most challenging snowshoeing I’ve ever done. My legs were burning before I arrived at the woods. The snow was so heavy, yet fluffy, and deep that it was an incredible workout to go anywhere – I wouldn’t have gotten far without snowshoes. No animal tracks drew patterns in the snow – I was the first creature to trek out. As the sky gradually lightened, it became the color of the snow. 

Tree branches were laden with snow. The windward sides of trunks were plastered with it. I stepped over the fence and weaved through the trees, down the small gully and up again, and over a prostrate log. The woods were quiet, the snow settling a hush over the landscape. Trees seemed bent over, straining from the load of snow. The garbage piles were covered, even the car and truck were barely visible. It was so beautiful, well worth the effort to snowshoe in this winter wonderland. Ducking under branches, I sometimes created a cascade of snow, luckily none fell on the back of my neck. Down and up a couple more gullies, under and around several tree limbs, rock outcrops above to my right, legs aching, I paused for a rest. In the gully was a perfect ring, a snow doughnut. I wonder what had created such an interesting pattern. Worn out and hungry, I turned and followed my tracks back. Thinking how great of an exercise it would be to snowshoe an hour everyday in these conditions. 

Today, Saturday, the snow was still there but had settled a fair bit and my tracks from Thursday made it less challenging. This morning I was accompanied by two teenage nieces Anne and Rose. They’d spent the night and I had told them I would be snowshoeing in the morning and they could come with or not, their choice. They both thought snowshoeing would be fun. The snowshoes for the girls were borrowed so poor Anne ended up with Jesse’s which were too big for her and she had them on the wrong feet so it was extra work for her. 

We went up and down the snowdrifts in the backyard, down the road a bit, up a hill, and turned to our left and down the slope to the buried pasture gate. Then a left, downhill turn, followed by a right turn over a buried gate into the pasture lane. Rose and I had to stop and wait for Anne several times; she’d never snowshoed before and was on a dietary cleanse so she had low energy – but I think she still enjoyed it. The snow had settled a bit so it wasn’t as challenging as it had been on Thursday. It was a bright sunny day and not too cold. We followed my tracks from the other day. We observed deer tracks. The snow sparkled. Rose and I paused for Anne to catch up; I took a photo of our shadows. This outing was more about exercising (taking advantage of the snow to snowshoe) together. I admired the shadows of trees on the snow. Tree limbs were still laden with their snowy burden. We were able to step over the temporary fence instead of crawling underneath. We tramped uphill a bit. 

At the tiny cedar tree, Rose and I paused again to wait for Anne. We talked about the beauty of the snow and the exhilaration of snowshoeing. Anne caught up to us and we gave her a moment to rest before continuing onward. I led the way downhill to the pasture low spot. We passed the boxelder, ash, and oak trees that jut out into the pasture along the eastern slope. They cast beautiful patterns in the snow on the western slope. The snow dazzled in the morning sunlight. We approached the fence separating the pasture and woods. A few of the bramble stems stuck up above the snow but most of the entwined mass was hiding beneath. I led the way, going westward, past the corner of the fence to enter the woods beyond the bramble patch. The cedars on the hill above were stately, like a painting. I held down the barbed wire fence, a single strand, thankfully not electrified in the winter, for the girls to step over. We marveled at the snow frosted trees and the quiet of winter. We went down into the first small gully, and back up, and around the crown of a fallen tree and over a log, which was almost hidden. How different it looked from just a week ago. (I think the fallen tree blew over in the snow storm – I don’t recall it being there a week ago.) I paused many times to take photographs of the fantastic winter forest. The snow almost appears blue in the darker areas. The rusty old truck peeked out of the snow. I told the girls how angry it made me that generations before us used the woods as a dump site. They were outraged as well. Rose and I deliberately slowed our pace several times to wait for Anne. We were all breathing heavily and were sweating from the exertion. The girls exclaimed, “It’s so beautiful!” I agreed wholeheartedly. The sun bathed the leaf-less but snow frosted trees. Winter is underrated – as long as there’s plenty of snow it’s wonderful. I wish the girls lived a bit closer and didn’t have such busy schedules so they could join me on treks in the woods more often and for longer periods of time. I wish I knew more so as to be teaching them about the woods and trees as we walk – I am trying to add to my knowledge though; little bit at a time so hopefully it sticks. 

We’d been in a fairly open area, but as we continued along, downhill, between the bluffs, the trees crowded in around us. We ducked under low hanging branches, pushed past others, and stepped over fallen limbs. I peered through the thickest tangle of branches with my camera lens.- a different perspective. Even when I have other people with me, I become lost in my own musings and awe for the woods. We passed under a spot where trees bend over the path creating an arch of sorts. As we go deeper it becomes more evident we’re walking between bluffs, not just hills, as the slopes on either side become higher and higher. I point out the rock outcroppings, on the western slope, almost obscured by the fresh snow; telling of my adventures climbing up the rocks. We’d gone down and up several small gullies, weaving our way through the narrow valley. I paused to photograph the characterful upper limbs of an oak tree – the trunk bends almost horizontal but the limbs stick straight up from it, reaching for the sky. (We’d turned around at one of the gullies – we were getting hungry and thirsty.) The girls called my attention to various things and asked me to take photos – the particular way a branch looked covered in snow, a tree that we pondered if it was an apple tree, the shadows on the snow. They each embraced a tree standing side by side, peeking out from behind for me to photograph. There were piles of snow where small amounts had fallen. We walked under the cathedral archway of trees – our trail now pressed into the snow, almost like a river with banks. We passed the big rock on the eastern slope, around the crown of the tree again, pausing to take note of the snow plastered on the northwest side of tree trunks. Up the slope toward the fence, Rose embraced another tree – I took another picture of her. Anne came up behind her and embraced her; it’s a joy to see the sisters’ friendship. I held down the wire for them to step over, and Anne turned and pressed it down for me. I paused to photograph the ash tree limbs, etchings against the sky. We continued along our path, retracing our steps back to the house – nearly faint with thirst and hunger. Next time we should eat breakfast before we snowshoe.

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