Happy Thanksgiving All!
We've got snow; lots of snow. I actually planned to write this little earlier but I've been enjoying time with stranded friends instead. Here in the north, we experience November as the bridge between fall and winter, the space between chatter and silence, that place where activity comes to a halt and takes a deep sigh.
This week, just when my friends from the North decided to stop in for a quick overnight on their way to warmer southern climates, winter decided to take a direct hit. My sweet friend, Madelenine, left the following behind when Mother Nature stopped to catch her breath and let them make their escape. I'll see you in the Spring on your way north again, Madeleine, Richard, Nicole and Reg. Bon Voyage!
“In wilderness is the preservation of the world.” ~ Henry David Thoreau
Stranded by Madeleine Beaupré
Well, we made it as far as Fife Lake, Michigan.
The first leg of our trip before the Alberta clipper hit.
Mother Nature had mischievously planned quite a shenanigan
We did arrive safely at Deb’s—But then that wasn't it.
We got snowed into her ample back yard.
Doing nothing but talking and cheering and feasting.
Becoming more ample ourselves—
She's a great hostess so it wasn't hard!
Then curled up comfortably in Deb's cushy chair,
Drinking in the laughter, the ribbing, the conversation,
I was inspired to jot down some unpolished thoughts,
Plucked from mid-air:
Thank You—A Free-Verse Outpouring
Wow—If I ever get stranded, what better place?
Surrounded by the familiar faces of family
grouped around Deb's home fires.
Igniting informal debates, chuckles then post-dinner
wine and rapid witty repartee.
Thank You, Fate,
for the coincidences you orchestrate.
Look out any window. What do you see,
through the delicate veil
of a windless, densely falling snow?
A babbling brook, a Winter-scape
straight out of a school text book.
A magical scene,
complete with overhanging snow-laden boughs
so muted and breath-taking, it leaves me in awe.
Thank You, Mother Earth,
for providing this oasis of gentleness.
Is this your way of saying I Love You, to us?
Well then,
Thank You once more!
We love you too!
Unbelievably, as if to confirm my thoughts,
she sends a lone, fragile fawn
down to drink from the stream!
How amazing is that?
It moves closer to the window—
we can see it clearly.
It raises its beautiful head,
and gazes right at us with those
soft doe-eyes, unafraid
before wandering away slowly,
taking a sip here, chewing on a twig there.
Again, Thank You!
For the gift of this simple pleasure of this sighting.
The new season is suddenly upon us.
The snow falls steadily overnight, gently
piling itself onto all surfaces in high, rounded mounds,
bestowing onto familiar objects an
otherworldly appearance.
But—another world it is!
A world of calm, and quietude,
and looking inward.
And forcibly slowing down all the
madness and the rush,
so that one may pause and say…
Thank You
for all this.
And everything else we neglect
to stop for a moment and appreciate.
"The only real voyage consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes; in seeing the universe through the eyes of another, one hundred others—in seeing the hundred universes that each of them sees.” ~Marcel Proust
Lately, I've been taking longer than usual walks. I feel an urgency to wear the dogs and myself out before firearm deer season starts on November 15 and, for two weeks, we're confined to house and yard during the daylight hours.
On November 15th, I’ll become a night walker, keeping my head down to avoid getting smacked in the face by an unseen branch. Sometimes, when I'm in particularly thick woods, I turn my headlamp on. But I prefer to travel at night without it. I like the mystery. Without sight, sound and smell become more acute. I pick my way along the creek by listening to the water's flow. I judge the distance I've traveled by the smell of the familiar cedar trees and swamps along the creek.
When there is some moonlight, just enough to see shapes beyond the immediate three feet in front of me, the trip becomes even more interesting as my mind becomes more engaged. The small white pine branch gently waving in the breeze becomes something else in my mind. Is it man or beast? Is it watching me? Could it be following me?
Not long after we begin our walk, the dogs move on ahead and well out of the range of my senses. They don't have the dependence on sight that hinders my night travel. Sometimes, they are led by their noses in a big circle and come back to me from behind. I stand frozen as I hear their thundering approach and it takes me a few seconds to interpret what has happened.
Unlike the day, when blue jays, nuthatches, chickadees and ravens fill the woods with sounds, night is for the owl. One will call close by and the other will return the call from a distance, both cries echoing off the steep banks of the creek.
Occasionally a tree will fall. It happens infrequently enough that it takes me a few minutes to calm myself and remember that the beaver, like the owl, are night workers.
A quivering pine branch, the rustling of leaves behind me, a falling tree, and the hooting of a couple of great horned owls are the perfect formula for a messy mind to create all kinds of mystery and peril. But there's nothing to do but go on. I'm in the middle of it now and going back will not be less difficult than moving forward.
And finally there are lights. It's the hunting camp of my friends who have been coming north for the last 40 years to hunt the woods just south of my house. Another passage into the unknown has been navigated successfully and I'm rewarded by warmth and friends. I’ll visit for awhile, rest and enjoy the campfire. Then the dogs and I will follow the two-track back to my home.
As I reach the end of that two-track and cross the open field that leads to my house, I'm awed by the beauty of that field at night. On a night with at least some moon and a slight breeze, the lichen glistens like pools of silver and the dead grasses bend to those silvery pools as though drinking nectar.
I sometimes wonder why I choose to start my walk through the woods along the creek, picking my way, when this perfectly good two-track can easily serve as a way to accomplish dog walking after dark and avoid the dangers, both real and imagined, in the dark woods. But I know the truth about myself. I love the mystery and the unknown of the woods at night. And, truth be told, the adrenaline isn't bad either. I feel so much more awake and alive when I reach that campfire. It's just two weeks in November. I’ll recover.
Get to know a place in the wilds. Get to know it well by day. Then experience it at night and get to know yourself anew.
“Mystery is at the heart of creativity. That and surprise.” ~Julia Cameron
“Uncertainty and mystery are energies of life. Don't let them scare you unduly, for they keep boredom at bay and spark creativity.” ~R. I. Fizhenry
Happy Thanksgiving All!
