In Pursuit of Wonder

April 1, 2023

By March 25, there was significant snow melt once again; the deep snow hanging on in the shadows and depths of the woods but just patches in areas with lots of sunlight. I had to give up the snowshoes. I am never ready to do so, although I do love the changes of seasons, the first hints of spring. There was one trek into the woods in which I really needed snowshoes but had gone without. Deep in the ravine, in the shadow of the bluff and trees, I sunk several inches. Getting frustrated and worn out from postholing, I crawled on my hands and knees for a considerable distance. The narrow gully winding its way downward, between the slopes, had a layer of ice from snowmelt. It seemed with each passing walk, the squirrels and birds became more animated, clearly excited about the pending spring. By now, I had worn a trail into the snow; it had banks like a stream. I noticed, as the snow melts it looks dirtier, less fresh and all majestic beauty gone. It is almost sad watching the snow rot away but the lusciousness that comes on the heels of the melting snow leaves little room for sadness. I relish the changing of the seasons. 

Everyday, we were losing a noticeable amount of snow. By the afternoon of March 26, there was significantly less snow than the day before. With less snow, and more time to walk, going in the afternoon with no obligations for the rest of the day, I went further than I had all winter. Rather than climbing up the hill after going far down into the valley and then going back down a little to where water would pour over the rocks as my turn around point, I walked further along the ravine. The water in the ravine wasn’t frozen, but it wasn’t running, just pooling in a few places. The banks were blackened with mud. Various animal tracks led to the water.  I crawled over, moss covered tree trunks, laying across the gully, some I stepped over and another I found it easier to duck under. Here, the bottom of the gully was covered with large stones of irregular shape, some shifted as I stepped upon them though they were so large. A log broke under me, thankfully I didn’t stumble, only sank down a few inches. These are the things that transform it from a walk to an adventure! Stumbling over logs and rocks, I took in the depth of the ravine. A highway ran several feet above. I ambled up the steep slope bordering the ravine. The snow was almost gone from the west slope, exposed dead morass of leaves and vegetation, colored the hillside a golden brown. A tree fascinated me; it had perhaps the most distinctive bark of all the trees, it was ridged but not deeply so, the valleys between ridges were wide. I see it throughout the woods. I have looked in my guidebooks but can’t figure out what it is. I came across a vine wrapped serpentine around the trunk of a tree. Now I was level with the road a bit away from it. I continued to climb and was soon far above the road. A few white pine trees mingle with the deciduous trees on this bluff slope. I love this spot. For some reason it stirs my heart and lifts my soul. The magical, directional angle of the sun filtering through the trees  I only wish the highway wasn’t right there. I went back along the slope, above the ravine for a long while before rejoining my steps from earlier in the ravine farther up the valley. 

Winter wasn’t ready to leave just yet. Today snow blanketed the ground. This wasn’t a light dusting of snow, winter sputtering out but several inches of snow; another chance to snowshoe. Once again, the landscape was clean, fresh white, and magical. The direction of the wind while it had snowed was known by the north side of the trees and silos being plastered in snow. Most people are tired of the snow by now, but I find it so beautiful and inviting. The gate to the pasture was weighed down by it. I stepped over. My camera joined me on this walk. The sun glowed brightly, climbing higher and higher everyday. The snow drifted into miniature mountains. Patterns, undulations of waves, were etched in the windswept areas. In one spot it looked like the puffs of broken pieces of foam insulation. I reveled in the snow inches thick on the fence wire and on last year’s dead plants. I will say it again, fresh snow is so beautiful. The woods looked like they’d been frosted. Why don’t we get this kind of snow in December and January anymore? Despite the cloudless sky and the sun higher in the sky, the woods appeared darker than they had a week ago. The meltwater in the ravine had the thinnest layer of ice, barely discernible. Further in, there was no ice at all. Unfortunately, the blizzard did some damage; numerous twigs laid strewn across the forest floor. A small tree snapped at the base and fell over in the night. I wondered further in, and down the hill, spellbound. With a bit of reluctance, I turned and headed back to the house. What would the rest of April be like? How many false starts will spring have?