Did
you catch the alliteration? The “S’s” of
Snapshot, Snowshoeing, and Snow day brings you into an English class on a day when school was cancelled. That’s alliteration as well as ironic. This blog is mostly pictures, so I’m not going to write much other than to say that today was a good day to slowly pull out of a funk from
recent pressures. After waking early
this morning, and getting something to eat, I shoveled the driveway. Since there was a lot of snow to move, I took
my time. I used the shoveling as “delayed
gratification” so I could do something else later in the day that was perhaps a
bit more enjoyable. After catching my
breath, Cindy and I jumped into our Jeep and ran a few errands before
lunch. Once we were home I took a needed
nap, and then I threw some gear together to head out to the snowy woods.
My
parents gave me my own pair of snowshoes on Christmas day back in 1989. Cindy and I used to have them hanging crisscrossed
in our apartment when we were first married.
Friends used to wonder if they were “real.” Although loved, they were “City Slickers.” My snowshoes are made of green ash and
rawhide, with bindings that my Dad made from old inner tubes. Appropriately, they are Michigan style
snowshoes; which simply means they are not as long as the Alaskan style, and
not quite as round as the Bear Paw style.
In other words, they keep you on top of the snow while allowing you to maneuver
in tight situations.
My
dog Kora and I went out to a favorite area for several hours. I saw four bald eagles while trekking along
(two that were mature with their white head), and one pileated woodpecker (it’s
almost the size of a crow). After
snowshoeing in, I heated some water over my Emberlit stove for a cup of hot
cocoa. Cindy and I are now wrapping up
the day by watching the opening ceremony of the
PyeongChang Olympic Winter Games. For
the next 18 days we’ll be able to watch people from around the world who also
enjoy the activities associated with the snow, cold, and ice.
It’s
a day of cloudless, blue skies. To my
left, and south, is the sun. It’s just
shy of 50 degrees today, warm enough that spiders have been out; their evidence
is left in their strands of webbing that catch sunlight as they dance in the
slight breeze. It’s a January thaw for
sure. Ahead of me, to the west, I can
hear the geese. They are no doubt floating
the river; the river I won’t be able to get to today. I’m still a half mile from its banks and have
been held back by the flooded backwaters.
I wish now that I had packed my hip boots. I wouldn’t have been denied. I had temporarily toyed with the idea of
taking off my winter boots, slipping my feet into some plastic grocery bags I
had brought along for just such an occasion, and then lace my boots back
up. I would have been able to move
through relatively shallow water without getting my feet and socks wet in the
still cold water. This present flooding
after the week’s rain and snowmelt, however, would have gone over the tops of
my boots, and I still had to cross a meandering creek before reaching the river
itself. Perhaps the next time I’m out
here I’ll haul along the extra, and necessary, gear to carry out that
endeavor. To my right, and north, a “murder”
of crows must be harassing an owl; they are raucous and carrying on like they
do when they’ve discovered a raptor and are trying to blow its cover.
One of The spiders Crawling Across My Journal
Earlier
a herd of deer bounded through the water and marsh grass to the southwest. I also saw an eagle circling in the easy air currents
before drifting off behind me to the east by southeast. At my back, and east, is a silver maple. Most of the trees surrounding me are of this
species, but I also see some ironwood and have spotted a couple of
sycamores. I knew these sycamores were somewhere
nearby as they had dropped their tell-tale leaves; big and broad and just a little
smaller than a dinner plate.
Nuthatches,
chickadees, and a northern flicker provide background sounds, accompanied by
the rhythmic pecking of a hairy woodpecker and the booming from a pair of
barred owls. These are the serenading
calls of comfort and familiarity, and for that I am thankful.
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I
needed a solo outing today. I needed to
engage in a place where my soul can sing and I can immerse myself wholeheartedly. If I had an entire day of this, from early
morning until late at night, I would probably border on calling it a vision
quest. I need the refueling. All of us do from time to time to do what we
do with any amount of passion. I’d say, “With
any amount of rigor” if I dared, but I won’t.
Passion sounds better and rigor seems too much like someone else’s
ill-advised goals being enforced upon me.
Rigor tips the scales towards the side of bondage, and so I’m sticking
with passion. Passion involves the heart
and the whole person. Passion is
holistic in that way.
For
this reason I’ll simply spend a few hours here.
Sitting on a nylon lined blanket with my dog Kora, I’m on a little,
round knoll about a foot up off the level of the water. It’s just big enough for Kora, and I, and the
massive silver maple I mentioned earlier.
It’s all good company. I imagine
this knoll is the remains of a once overturned tree stump, now reduced to a slightly
raised bump in the midst of this lowland forest.
Kora’s
been staring back towards the east, along the worn deer trail we had followed
in, and that extends now under my feet.
About a half hour after first sitting down to write, two people came
fairly close behind me. I think they may
have seen Kora’s head peaking around the trunk of the tree, and backed off and
disappeared after that. On outings like
this I try hard to avoid people, so it’s fine with me. Solitude can be a good thing when one wants
to think, relax, and/or write.
Typically
I would have come out earlier today, but I first wanted to run a few miles with
a friend, and then I wanted to come out after the sun had warmed the
Earth. I’ll go out in any kind of
weather, but it’s exciting to soak up some vitamins from the sun in January. This is especially true when I want to
journal, and hold onto a pen without having to wear my big, leather mittens.
I’m
lying on my side now, with Kora beside me; it’s all about getting comfortable I
guess. Presently the breezes have
extended into a slight wind and the branches are rattling together. Sunlight shines on the waxy, earthbound leaves
surrounding my blanket. Poison ivy
shoots extend up out of the ground on either side. This would not be a place to spend much time
during any of the warmer seasons.
It’s
times like today where I wonder if I could ever do do this type of thing for a
living. Not that someone would pay me
for the solitude aspect, but the outing itself; bringing others into the great
out of doors. Perhaps it could happen as
a second job, or something to fill in the gaps in retirement. I love the planning, the preparation of the
gear, and getting others into wild surroundings. I’d still save my favorite destinations for
special, solo outings such as this. It
would be about the experience, not the specific location. Getting out into nature; sensing it,
capturing it in words or photos, and immersing oneself into what it has to
offer, is worthy of sharing. It’s worthy
of sharing with those who have similar interests, and connections, and would
appreciate both the outing and the experiences that it has to offer. It’s also worthy of sharing with those who
have no connections what-so-ever, but are willing to risk the chance to attempt
a relationship with the natural world. I
suppose it’s something to dream about.
Until then, I’ll continue to soak up today’s sun, and the sneak peak of
springlike conditions this January thaw is providing.
This
afternoon it finally snowed enough for me to break out my cross-country
skis. I went out to a local forest preserve
to hit their trails. From the look of
the tracks, only one other person had been out there before me, and we actually
went in separate directions after the first mile. In the open areas along the prairies the snow
was deep enough to get a glide going with each push forward. In the hilly, wooded areas, where it was a
little more protected, there was a little less snow. The depth of the snow would have been more
than sufficient with a base of some sort, but without it my skies often times
caught bare ground underneath. The
result was a live demonstration of several of Newton’s Laws of Motion. An object in motion stays in motion unless
acted upon by a force (skis stick, body lurches forward). For every action there is an equal and
opposite reaction (body falls forward and slams into the ground, air is forced
from lungs).
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Anyways,
this day is not so much about me, as it was to reflect on simply being
outside. While skiing I reflected on our
time together as a family over the holidays.
I also thought about the two separate times I took both of my kids out
to the woods. It was a time to connect,
cook a meal, and share an experience together.
It’s something that helps me see the passage of time, the progress made,
and the growth that is happening before my very eyes.
Enjoy
the pictures and videos of our adventures; first with Todd on
Thursday, December 28th before he left to go overseas, and then with
Jodi on Sunday, January 7th before she went back to college.
See
you along The Way…
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Todd's Outing - December 28th, 2017
Kora Watching From Her Blanket On A Cold Morning
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Pics from the Past (February 5th, 2005)
One Of Todd's First Cookouts - We've Come So Far!
An Egg Cooked In An Orange Peel As Kati Spots Something : )
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Jodi's Outing - January 7th, 2018
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Pics from the Past (March 5th, 2005)
Like The Picture Above - Creatively Dreaming On Her First Winter Outing
When
Justin pulled up, his car thermometer said minus eighteen. It didn’t really matter what it said; it was
cold. Fortunately there was virtually no
wind to drive the integers down further.
The air hung with what could only amount to relentless and penetratingly
sharp knives. Tyler, who had been
sitting in his truck out in front of our house, got out and joined us; as did
Doug once he parked behind Tyler’s truck.
The gear I had put together, and the food I had prepared, was loaded
into the back of Justin’s vehicle. Four
guys in an SUV, on a road trip (for a few hours), in freezing cold temperatures;
this was going to be perfect!
We
drove north of the Stateline border, and soon after, broke out the Clementine oranges
I had brought for each of us. This time
of the year they are succulent, and that’s how they tasted. We talked, and enjoyed the drive; arriving in
a little less than an hour.
Myself, Justin, Tyler, and Doug
We
left most of our gear and the food for later, and instead pulled on our extra
layers and headed out onto the lake. The
ice was thick, and coated with several inches of snow that was dry and powdered
into fine crystals from the recent Arctic blasts these past few weeks. As a group of four we crossed the lake and
delved into the red osier thicket.
Keeping the sun on our left side, at a 10 to 11 o’clock position, we
hiked southward.
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A
few years ago my cousin Sean had remarked that, “It’s like being birthed from a
pine tree,” as we had pushed through a thick swamp into a newly found section
of a favorite river to fish for trout.
Today we felt as though we were being birthed from the dogwood. It required the lead guy to look for gaps in
the network of branches as we followed behind in a snaking, single file. A lot of bending, twisting, and maneuvering likened
us to a yoga instructor; bent on limbering up every major muscle group in our
bodies. Somehow Tyler and Doug did all
of this gripping onto their steel thermos of coffee, while Justin and I took
turns thrashing through the brush.
Together, Justin and I knew what we were doing. We had learned from our experience last year
when we had endured the same exact thing.
To help Doug and Tyler fully appreciate what we were doing, we purposely
repeated the same trek.
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About a mile
from where we had parked we burst out upon an open area with a frozen
pond. It was a relief, felt from all
four of us, that we had made it through.
Each of us, however, was suffering with either cold toes or fingers to
some degree or another despite our movement.
Our core was staying warm, but after taking some pictures, we followed
an outlet creek that led back to the original lake. Despite the bright sun, in a clear blue sky,
we needed to get back and get a fire started to reheat our phalanges. Luckily, as Justin and I had also known, the
walking was much easier in this section of our return trip.
A Dead Deer
Coyote Tracks
The
sun on the frosted grasses along the creek side provided us some opportunities
to take some great pictures. Although it
was cold, the creek with its moving water remained open. We also found a frozen, dead deer which had
been fed upon by coyotes, as evidenced by the crisscrossing and dog-like
tracks. It was a visual for the circle
of life. Pushing on, we returned to the
parking lot. We grabbed my sled, and
loaded some firewood I’d brought, along with the chopped up food and cooking
utensils. We returned to the far side of
the lake, just outside of the community of ice shanties, and quickly built a
fire out on the ice.
While
we were in preparation, two fishermen came over to see what we were doing. They had caught one fish so far using their tip-ups. We explained that we were just out to cook
some breakfast. Laughing, we all agreed
that it probably seemed crazy to anyone that might be looking at us out on the
lake on a frigid day like today, whether we were fishing, hiking, or
cooking. When we mentioned that we were
teachers from just over the Stateline, one of the men mentioned that his dad
had been an administrator at a small school district near where we all
lived. It turned out that he had been at
the district we were each connected to.
In fact, I knew of his dad. He
had retired just two years before I had been hired. Together, we both mentioned beloved teachers
by name that he was familiar with. They
were the teachers that had provided the foundation for our school and
district. It was bizarre, and caused me
to once again remember that the world is indeed small.
Here
I was on a frozen lake, for all intents and purposes, a long way from nowhere
(which is why we like it), sharing memories of people from a time when our
district was small and practically like family.
At the same time, here I was with a group of guys embodying an excerpt
of that vision of unity, only decades later.
The vision or dream can live on.
The dream simply has to be an action step. It comes in different forms, but an effective vision
for doing life together is essential to truly be successful. Actually, doing life together on any level
must be relational if it is to be anything close to successful or hold any
meaning at all. And in order to be
relational and family-like, people must have a desire to want to spend time
getting to know each other. We shook
hands and waved goodbye as they turned to make their way back to their fish shanty.
The
four of us did our best to warm by the fire while cooking on the coals. I’ve sometimes thought I should mix up the
menu of what I prepare, but the other three quickly said, “No,” that it should
remain as it is. I conceded and
agreed. On the giant iron skillet, the
food came out perfectly this time, and we let the meal and taste permeate the
pores of our mouths and stomachs. We
topped it off with two cups of hot chocolate.
Tyler and Doug accidentally switched their monogrammed mugs, but they said
that each other’s cocoa tasted just fine.
The warmth of the moment, and the experience of our little adventure,
was just short of motivational.
We
kicked out the fire, packed our gear, and headed off the ice. Once we loaded up, and climbed inside the
SUV, we quickly felt the sun’s warmth through the windows coupled with the
vehicle’s heater. We each had one more Clementine
orange together with a container of cookies from Doug’s wife. To the background sounds of a podcast about a
guy who had survived a bear attack, we talked and drove home. Today was indeed cold, but it is destined to
be long remembered as a classic road trip.
