The gifts of February in Northern Michigan come in tiny, tiny packages: a momentary sight of a deer before she heads back down to the creek where the snow is less deep and the temperatures are just a little warmer; a few snow fleas, just a few, to remind me that there is, indeed, life within all this stillness; a few more seconds of light each day; a glimpse of the sun over the tree tops at the southern end of my property before it dips again below the tree line; a few minutes more each week when the sky is cloudless. The world around my home is locked up, frozen. So each tiny change feels monumental.
Once spring and summer arrive, my senses will be overloaded. I’ll take in more and therefore probably notice less. So now, I relish noticing the little things. In February, it feels luxurious to take in the tidbits, the morsels, doled out in my frozen world. I enjoy being reminded that the small things in life are as important as the bigger events.
So here are just a few tidbits from my February appreciation list:
• Fluffy warm socks, size BIG.
• A movie at a friend's house, in PJ's of course.
• The wonder of coming upon another’s snowshoe tracks deep in ‘my’ woods.
• Skipping around the house to my favorite songs.
• Wood fires.
• A good Manhattan, up!
• Sighting a downy, hairy, red-headed, red-bellied and pileated woodpecker in one day.
• The smell of sunflower seeds and cracked corn as I scoop the critter food into my bucket.
• My pair of old dogs.
• Northern Pike and Walleye from the freezer.
• Venison from the freezer.
• Moose from the freezer.
• Morel mushrooms from the freezer.
• Huckleberries from the freezer.
• Novels so rich they take the whole month to read.
• Ordering my annual supply of fishing lures from Lucky Strike Bait Works.
• Organizing the tackle box.
• Down in all forms (mittens, vests, coats and douvets).
• And…Lots of berry pies!
Happy Valentine's Day, All! Here's to letting the tidbits fill you up!
“When you die, if you get a choice between going to regular heaven or pie heaven, choose pie heaven. It might be a trick, but if it's not, mmmmmmmm, boy.” ~ Jack Handy
Ah, February. I look out my window and see nothing but white. Or so it seems in this frozen month. But that's impossible I say and so I challenge myself to see the color. And ever so slowly, the whole host of browns that have been there all along emerges as I notice tree trunks. Then, immediately, my eyes are drawn to the pines and firs and I notice the green that has also always been there. Nothing has changed except my perception of February and the way I choose to notice. The birds of my yard this time of year are mostly chickadees. But with my new eyes, their black caps stand out. Not quite color, but certainly a contrast to all the white. And oh, yes, down by the creek, still hanging on to their branches, are some dried, but red, Michigan Holly berries. And for at least today, the sky is bright blue.
I'm inspired. The vibrant colors of spring and summer remain buried deep. But all is not lost in this month of February. So I go to my closet and don the most colorful winter clothing I own. Teal green long underwear, a bright red turtleneck, my yellow sweater, and my yellow and purple knit hat and matching scarf immediately create in me joy and delight. And look, there are my yellow sunglasses!
I'm off on my daily walk, today in search of more color. Perhaps I'll see a Pileated or Red-Headed Woodpecker, a Downy or Hairy Woodpecker. And should I find nothing more colorful than my February attire, perhaps then it's my lighthearted obligation today to bring to the world around me the color I seek. After all, unlike my ancient ancestors, I am no longer the prey of things bigger, wild and ferocious. I can afford to stand out.
"It amazes me how over the years we are repeatedly aware of the need to be reminded, or to come again with fresh, or new or developed eyes to the sense of 'Who am I?', and 'What do I stand for?', 'What matters?', 'What is the gift that I bring to bear on what matters?'" ~Liana Taylor www.lifeintelligence.com.au
I don't take the simple daily events for granted. Especially if they are related to nature in some way. There's GOLD in every moment.
I'm wandering again. I tried for awhile to pull these three observations together and make them one strong, meaningful article. No can do. They're definitely "stand alones." May one or more inspire you.
One:
We've got snow! The driveway, is getting smaller as the snow banks invade it from both sides. The roof is holding a good two feet of snow and I'm getting a little moved off each day. It's alarming to look out the windows over the kitchen sink and see one of the dogs staring back at me.
But it has not been all work. The dogs have insisted we walk and so the artist, Mother Nature, inspires me daily. It's amazing what she can do with a little snow piled on some upturned tree roots, a snow-covered creek with just a hint of flow, and some sunshine filtering through the hemlock and cedar with just enough wind to send sparkling diamonds scattering off the tree branches. Wow. Do we need any more than that to sustain us?
"If you are missing out on the natural joy and wisdom of life, it is because you have been taught to ignore it." ~Michael J. Cohen, Reconnecting With Nature
Two:
Last Saturday I went ice fishing. This year's exceptional snowfall has created a warm blanket on top of the lake. The result is about 8 to 12 inches of slush on top of the more solid lake ice. It's unnerving to step on to the lake when conditions are like this. Intellectually, I know as I plunge through the top layer of slush that my foot will ultimately stop on solid ice and I will not find myself submerged in the lake. But with each step, my body was startled into reacting by bending my knees, crouching low and spreading my arms out full in order to save myself. Coming back off the lake after dark magnified the sensation.
So right now you're saying “Then why does she do that!?” I do it not to trust myself, have faith in something outside of me, or any of the other more pure reasons. No, the uncertain feelings I put my body through were just a way to get my juices flowing. It's the middle of winter, you know. I needed a way to break up the seasonal blahs and create just enough of a dangerous illusion to shift me into feeling very much alive again.
"The most exotic destination of all is the one to be found within your own adventurous spirit." ~Jeff Salz, The Way of Adventure
Three:
A few days ago I was having a virtual conversation with a few folks about the Law of Attraction. The question was asked, do you think it's better to share your intentions and desires with others as a way to get them out there, make them more solid, and use others to help you move forward? Or is it better, as Wayne Dyer suggests in his book Manifest Your Destiny, to keep your intentions private?
I agree with Dyer. Partly because it's difficult for others, especially those who love you, to hold your intention purely.
But the main reason I do not share my intentions is because my intentions change at the speed of light. One of the reasons the Law of Attraction works so well for me is because I allow myself to revise my intentions on the fly. Today's intention often becomes bigger and better in a short period of time. Sharing my original intention would slow me down. Ultimately, I want to be moving at the pace where I manifest something and then realize that was my intention rather than creating an intention and then waiting for it to happen.
One exception. I meet regularly with 3 other coaches who don't give a hoot about what I say I intend. Nor do I care about their stated intentions. The result is a safe place to say it out loud and then let it or something better happen. Find a coach or person who can do that for you and things will happen fast! Those closest to us or those who take our intentions too seriously often care too much and muddy the playing field.
Thanks Tom, Anna and Karen!
So for February:
1. Get yourself in nature, now!
2. Do something that gets the juices flowing.
3. And share your intentions with those who care only about the conversation it generates.
The gifts of February in Northern Michigan come in tiny, tiny packages: a momentary sight of a deer before she heads back down to the creek where the snow is less deep and the temperatures are just a little warmer; a few snow fleas, just a few, to remind me that there is, indeed, life within all this stillness; a few more seconds of light each day; a glimpse of the sun over the tree tops at the southern end of my property before it dips again below the tree line; a few minutes more each week when the sky is cloudless. The world around my home is locked up, frozen. So each tiny change feels monumental. 
