Jan 07 2011
Deep In It
My dog Matika was restless so we had to do something. Okay, maybe I was a little restless, too, having stayed indoors doing literary work for a week or more. At any rate, we headed for Aldis Hill the other day despite the weather.
I had hoped for a daylong excursion in the mountains but a morning snow shower nixed that. The prospect of a forty-minute, white-knuckle drive each way along greasy roads did not appeal to me. Better to stay close to home and leave the bigger outing for a sunny day. So I headed for the hill.
We hiked up Aldis Hill as a light snow shower tapered off to the occasional flurry. Almost immediately I regretted not having a pair of Yaktrax with me – a simple device that slips over each boot, providing traction on icy surfaces. A couple inches of fresh snow concealed the hazardous conditions underfoot. Last weekend’s melt-off had turned the hill into a great mound of ice. Oh well.
Matika didn’t care. She ran through the woods all smiles, as sure-footed as a mountain goat. I hobbled along, paying more attention to where I stepped than to the surrounding snow-covered woods. Near the top of the hill, I stopped long enough to enjoy the view eastward towards French Hill. And that’s when it struck with full force: deep in it now. Deep into winter and there’s nothing to do now but endure. A fortnight past the Solstice, the days are getting longer, yes, but it’ll be another month before that’s noticeable. Until then it’s the deep freeze with long dark evenings, a lot of shoveling, and difficult driving.
Descending the hill was even more treacherous than ascending it. I caught myself wishing for a lot more snow so that I could break out my snowshoes. That’s how woods walkers like me embrace winter. Those whose moods run closer to the surface glide down slopes on skis, but some of us would rather slog along, sinking half a foot into the white stuff with each step. What the hell, if it’s going to be winter we might as well be waist-deep in it.
Matika doesn’t care. Winter, spring, summer or fall, it’s all good to her. Dogs are even better than children at being in the moment. But I am more than half a century old, think too much, and am always looking ahead. So I dream of warmer, sunnier days even as the cool, fresh air fills my lungs.
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