Sharing The Love

     'Tis the season; and stores began pushing it as soon as Christmas ended.  Pink, red and white decorations; heart shaped with lacy edgings.  All dressed as warm and chocolaty sensations.  Indoor fluff disguised in a greeting card fantasy.

     Outdoors it's in the single digits with a 20 to 30 mile an hour wind, making for negative temperature wind chills.  Although frigid, the skies are relatively clear now that the sporadic squalls have moved on from the morning.  It’s crisp, clear, bone crackling, vivid air.  Alluringly sensuous, yet deathly cold, the frosty love of the river bottom-lands beckon me.  Perhaps it's a challenge.  Perhaps it's a rite.  A passage into the woods on any day; warm or cold, dry or rainy, windy or calm is a day of anticipation, preparation and exploration in the midst of tribulation.  That kind of suffering is well worth it though, if you have thought through and then double thought through what is necessary to survive.  Other than the times I stopped to take just the right "selfie" pictures with a mitten-less hand, I managed well. 

My body core remained constant, with several layers of clothing, and the dogs were doing fine despite the deep drifts over thick-matted marsh grass.  It was my club-like hands and fingers that took the vengeance of Mother Nature's northwest wind head on.  In a few months she would be warm and comforting and full of promise.  Presently, she was harsh and slightly abrasive to any stranger of her land.  I, however, saw her as being someone's Grandma.  She may get after the kids cutting through her yard and complain to the neighbors about the growing traffic in her neighborhood, but when those who know her visit, she lets them see her true self.  Even Mother Nature in February can serve milk and cookies; it’s all in the perception.  I love winter. The snow and cold are the icing on the cake.

     After working a few moments with an exposed hand, it would take 10 to 15 minutes for it to feel normal again.  When I finally got the picture that sort of showed what I was up against, I finished the hike back into the river's edge.

I had brought a camouflaged, burlap sheet to act as a wind break, but instead found a ditch that had been hewed from the bank.  The ditch had been formed when spring's rain and snow melt had drained off the low-land and down into the river's channel.  It worked perfect as a place to hunker down and cook a late lunch of breakfast food.  Week after week, throughout the winter months, I never grow tired of my meal of potatoes cut into cubes and cooked in butter.  Eggs, shredded cheddar cheese and sausage (cubed, stadium brats) are added in once the taters turn soft.  I love it.  I crave it.  The fire and meal is like driving the last few miles of a long journey; sitting on the edge of your seat all jittery.  My dogs never get table food at home because I don't want dogs trained to be constantly begging for handouts.  When I hike in, however, and cook like I do, I break the norm and save a little bit for them.  I figure they've earned it, and we're in a little different environment than back at home. 

     I was able to start the fire after only a few strikes of the steel on the flint.  A small pinpoint of glowing ember on a piece of char cloth wrapped in a nest of dry grasses, is what starts it all.  With tender coaxing and fresh oxygen, flames leapt as I began adding small sticks.  I make small fires because I only need one big enough to cook and warm up water for cocoa; in addition to my hands.  Fires are living, breathing entities that require constant attention.  To make anything bigger brings undue attention.  I try to be stealth.  A bigger fire requires more wood that needs to be found and cut up.  Anything else is what has commonly been called a, "white man's fire", which for anyone with an eye for nature would be seen as overkill.  A small fire is all that is necessary. 

     My total trip was a little over three hours long; perfect under conditions that most people would deem as a day unfit for human meanderings.  Sharing time in nature with my dogs early on allowed me to share time with Cindy, my love, later in the afternoon.  We had a great meal at a restaurant across the State-line in Janesville, Wisconsin.  It was a chance to get out and talk together about life and our family.   Later we watched a movie at home, finishing just before the kids returned from an evening out with friends.  The family, back together, was once again under one roof on a cold winter's night.  The dogs, curled up on their pillows after the day's excursion, occasionally yipped softly and twitched in their dreams.  It was a perfect ending to Valentine’s Day; sharing the love with those you love.  
     See you along The Way...