In Pursuit of Wonder

March 18, 2023

A fierce west wind blew, driving the windchill several degrees below zero, the actual temperature was ten degrees. Clouds filled the sky completely. A few snow flurries danced frantically in the wind. Not good weather for a walk but I went anyway. I feel compelled to walk for at least an hour on Saturday mornings since currently it is the only day I am guaranteed to have the time (and perhaps energy or at very least self-discipline) to walk. I love walking; it’s one of my favorite things to do, especially since I combine my love of photography and writing with it. Of course I am lucky to have private woods (and pastures) to wander through. Walking is a source of fun and enjoyment with the added benefits of boosting my emotional, mental and physical health, all of which have been in poor shape for the last couple of years. I could easily spend an entire day in the woods. (I don’t think I’ve ever gotten to the point where I left the woods because I grew tired of them; I always leave the woods reluctantly, dragging myself away.) But I haven’t had the opportunity to spend all day in the woods for quite awhile – winter isn’t the best time because you have to keep moving to stay warm or it’s too wet to sit in one place for more than a few minutes. I have found a compromise, walking in the woods for an hour a couple of times a week instead of waiting and longing for a day off, no obligations to spend it entirely in the woods. 

The wind was so miserable it brought tears to my eyes and made me question if I had worn enough layers under my snow pants and winter coat – at least I shouldn’t get sweaty. We’d lost a lot of snow cover Wednesday and Thursday; sadly I was going without my snowshoes. I hoped by sticking to my trail, I would avoid punching through the snow. I set out, chin tucked inside my coat, across the backyard, over hard packed snow. Much of the backyard was snowless. Down a slight incline, I paused a moment before the driveway and road, remembering the last time the ice was exposed and how I nearly fell. I took the next few steps cautiously, impressed that I hardly slipped. Crossing the frozen- solid, gravel road, I traversed the ditch. The nasty wind cut at me. Soon I turned, walked down into the snow laden ditch to the pasture gate. Stepping over the gate, I turned west and slowly picked my way down the icy slope and turned northward in the lane. Perhaps I could have used my snowshoes – I just want to be careful not to wreck them – they’re teeth would’ve been useful on the ice. Slipping several times, I adjusted my course, up the slope a little where there was less ice accumulation. The bottom of the pasture was solid ice; water ran through here a few days ago. I scooted my feet along this ice rink, rather than picking them up. 

I stepped over a temporary fence, my feet crashed through the first layer of paper thin ice – wow, that was loud. I plodded up the slope a bit, again, to avoid the ice sheet, but the snow was glazed with it. I treaded onward with care, past familiar markers like the water tank and tiny cedar tree. At which, my trail plunged downhill, I tried not to do the same as I descended. The first trees greeted me. Again, I traversed an ice sheet, but seeing it flowed right past these few trees to the woods, I crossed its several foot breadth to the snow. Now that I was further into the valley, I had protection from the wind. 

I followed along the western side of the woods to a low spot in the single strand of barbed wire fence. (It can inflict a lot of damage and hold you fast if a barb catches you; I’ve had too many experiences with this.) Careful not to snag my mitten, I pushed down on the wire, a luxury I won’t have in the summer when it will be electrified, and stepped over. (Taller people can get away with stepping over fences more often than I, most often I have to army crawl on my belly under them.) Trees at the top creaked, moaned, and clattered in the wind. I weaved my way around trees, like a meandering river. Down a slight incline, and up the other side. A shallow ravine wove its way through too. It is so quiet and peaceful in the woods. The slight strain in my muscles was a delight. I took in the trees and the exposed bedrock, towards the top of the hill. The further I ambled, the higher the hillsides became; more correctly, the deeper the valley became. Stepping over logs I hadn’t noticed were there, only a few days ago completely covered in snow. Ducking under branches and trees choosing to grow more horizontal than vertical. Squirrels traveled tree branch roads. Down an incline and up again, around the base of a tree, over a fallen crown,  under a leaning branch. Will there be edible mushrooms in this part of the woods this growing season? I hope so. Rabbit tracks. Squirrel tracks. And something using part of my trail that I couldn’t identify. Several times I went down into the ravine, I crashed through the thin ice, regretting the racket. I paused here and there, soaking in the trees, marveling at the rocks. Brambles grabbed at my snowpants but I managed to evade their grasp. I paused, considering a few fallen trees I want to climb once they are free of their ice and snow blanket. It’s just too beautiful to capture with words or photographs. 

Under and through the branches of a fallen tree and up the steep, bluff slope. I love the burn in my legs and core when I do this; I feel alive with the exertion. I paused to touch a tree, take note of a blackened maple that must have been hit by lightning. A big limestone boulder with its layers peaked out, it seems out of place – exposed bedrock or did it roll down to its present location? I passed a ravine with an island in the middle, cutting the bluff at an interesting angle. I have stopped climbing for the moment, and walk northward, parallel to the slope. After several paces, I turn left and continue to amble up the slope. A little ways up, I turn right again, walking to the edge of another ravine. (Earlier in the walk I saw a chickadee and heard and saw a crow fly away.) I noticed several birds chirping and flitting about in the trees and on the ground. Their breasts are a fiery red orange – robins! There were perhaps ten; the first I have seen in this area this year. Spring is coming. I survey the landscape around me. In the big ravine sandwiched between the bluffs, sit rocks. The melting snow and ice formed fabulous icicles hanging off of them. I scooted down for a closer look. Marvelous. 

Moments later, I ambled up the slope, zig-zagging around the trees and back down again following my trail. The trees in places create a tunnel-like effect that is stunning. I am eager to explore this part of the woods in spring and early summer. The brambles and undergrowth might be too thick for easy exploration in July. (Of course, it’s not fun if there isn’t any challenge.) Hopefully I will return tomorrow.

(I did return the following day, which was better for photography so the photos are from March 19th.)

View more photos at https://www.instagram.com/bethanybenike/