So today, half of my wintered backyard is melting to grass and illuminated by the sleepy sun peeking over my neighboring woodlands. The other half remains covered by a blanket of friendly February snow. This white delight offers the perfect packing texture for my grandson to discover grandma molding a snowman’s head. Indeed I feel like a granddaughter again myself as we walk around the perimeter of our own wonderland, breathing in actual winter warmth of this friendly sun.
I notice on social media a beautiful visual message exclaiming that “Spring is only four weeks away.” It shows a simple “snow drop” flower pushing up through a snow covered woodland floor. The sun is showing through in the distance with the very substance of hope palpably experienced as this scene is viewed.
As marvelous as this is, I do not want to miss living in the present moment of this February wintered splendor. This day has its own glory to encounter. I fully embrace it and allow it to stir deep creativity within me.
Like the seasons of our lives, nature’s cycles have their own revelations and nuances to offer. It is wisdom to stop, listen, look, feel, trust. The time of winter’s hiddenness covers our souls if we let it. It provides re-creation, rest, refreshment, and new vision. It prepares us for the time of uncovering and manifestation soon to come in our lives.
Take time today to embrace the lingering time of winter wonder and you may find your own glory silently being restored. Live fully in these wintering moments that will never come again and you will find the innocence of childhood breathing through you once again.
Spring will come with its own glory. When it does, you will be ready.
Surprise moments appear sometimes where the natural world is juxtaposed with the supernatural in an encounter of life changing awe when the veil is drawn back. Clinging to the afterglow of such an event, one longs to capture in words even a mere sliver of the wonder that has taken the breath away …
Yes, it was green. Like a giant patchwork quilt stretching out beneath us as I peered through the jet’s open shades. Moments later there were the high hills in the distance, framed by the airport terminal’s great picture windows. Even through sleepy eyes, a queasy stomach and a massive time change, Ireland was breathtakingly green.
It seemed forever and a day, but before we knew it we were on the road, albeit driving on the pavement’s left side, sitting in the right-sided driver’s seat. Feeling a bit disjointed on this Irish journey, we were just outside of Dublin. Getting more lost by the minute we were, but who cared? We were, after all, lost … in Ireland.
A truck of locals enroute to help neighbors with their leaking roof took the time to stop by us as we pulled off onto an available country road. I looked out my window to our left and there appeared a gate to who-knows-where. My imagination ran limitless to the wondrous grounds beyond it which ran a deep green. From the truck came one of three welcoming gentlemen who extended kindness to us and gave these weary travelers directions to Cork in such charming brogue that made this writer feel Celtic affection and deep gratitude.
So off we were toward County Cork albeit the lengthy route. Sheep-dotted hillsides were all around us even as we departed the city limits. Varying shades of green were boundaried by miles of piled stone fences meticulously built as far as the eye could see. Several hours passed as did “O’Reilly” trucking vehicles and wee villages. Rain abruptly appeared out of nowhere and dissipated with the rapidly shifting skies. In the misty distance, randomly appearing towers and memorials stood dreamlike, as remnants of an age of castles.
The driving wore on as my husband’s endurance was wearing out. He began to doze. My massageful hands on his neck and shoulder succeeded in keeping him alert for a time, but he was fading fast.
Suddenly and miraculously there appeared an exit to our right. In search of a place to park and take a short nap, our vehicle dependably carried its passengers as if it were being led and seemed to know the way.
The highway transformed into a small sleepy village road from another time. A few humble houses sat tucked away along the roadside as if in an invitation to the empty parking area found just across the way. It was a welcoming sight as we pulled into the spot that seemed to be awaiting us. We had no idea of where we had arrived to but to me that was ok. We were, after all, in Ireland and yes… it was green.
My eyes drifted closed as I lay back in the car. My husband was already in dreamland. All was still. My pseudo rest however, did not last. My heart was a bit preoccupied. Something was calling to me and I had to find out what it was. Surely Dick could have an undisturbed nap while I explored. My door closing did not bother him a bit. I stood up and slowly stretched before walking a wee distance down to the other end of the parking area where the greenery thickened.
At once I was breathless at what appeared. Was I seeing a misty vision? I had heard there “were castles everywhere” in Ireland. Here I was, indeed closest to the first castle remains I had ever discovered in that fair land. It was enchanting. Not a soul seemed to be around yet I sensed someone was watching me. Still, I felt very safe, like I was meant to be there.
A weathered, tall stone tower stood like a sentinel with a cottage-like structure humbly attached from so very long ago. It was set way back from the road with many old-looking, friendly trees and ancient rock fencing all the way around, as if guarding it. Amazed and in wonderment, I stood very still and gazed upon it, feeling like I had its permission to do so. The grass on the grounds was oh so very anciently green.
A peaceful serenity greeted me as I discovered a place seemed to be lost in time yet so well preserved and intended for this very moment. And then I became aware that other gentle voices were beckoning me. I noticed an ancient cemetery off to the left of this scene.
I entered into a narrow pathway close to the stone fence that defined the castle yard and led to the cemetery. I quietly approached and had a sense that I was standing on holy ground. It was history’s ground, a place of stories lived and told. Here was an honored location where one could almost hear the rocks and stones cry out “Life! Life! These lived!” Only a very thin membrane existed between time and eternity, here. I stood silent, just being, and studying, and listening. Yes, the ground around and the hills in the distance were a deep, everlasting green.
A wee distance down the village road was a humble church, Corcoran’s neighborhood pub restaurant and a local family store. Cows fed in front yards. Cottage homes were meticulous and simple. And yes, their yards were green, the color of life.
I felt like I could have kept walking down that road forever. My camera was busy at work. My heart hoped to catch and preserve the feeling of the atmosphere in each photo. There was rustic charm and welcome even though I saw no other people around. It was a place of rest indeed.
I ambled back, in what felt like slow motion, to our quiet vehicle where my napping husband was awakening. I was strangely rested and renewed. To this day I have no idea what the name of this quiet little village was, this treasure fair, somewhere in Ireland. I am however so very grateful that it appeared seemingly out of nowhere for our refreshment and then sent us on our way.
As we drove from our parking spot, I shared with my love my discoveries of that hour, never wanting to forget my singular journey into wonder. It was Ireland’s simple, everlasting gift to me.
Back on the main road, we made our way toward Cork and Blarney. I remained transfixed by what lay all around us in the countryside as we passed. The scenery spoke to us. There we were in a distant land on a distant journey that seemed timeless. What did it matter where we were or how long it would take to reach our destination? We were, after all, in Ireland. And yes, it was indeed…green.
This past weekend, my husband and I traveled to a never before experienced destination. We have always enjoyed summer visits to the Adirondack Mountains but it was not until a few years ago that we discovered their unparalleled and unique silent beauty in winter.
It had been many moons since I had hit the ski slopes, due to a knee injury suffered in my youth. So, about six years ago when our youngest adult son shared with us his discovery of snowshoeing, I was inspired! Just maybe this was something I could do! Not on the high peaks like him, but as a baby beginner on flatlands.
My husband thought so too, and soon after surprised me with a beautiful pair of aluminum snow shoes and a set for himself as well! On went the knee wraps and the triple-layered clothing. Off we went into the world of discovering the marvels of winter snowshoeing.
Even my own backyard became a magical wonderland. I was like a little child seeing everything for the first time. The trees took on a charming royalty, like guards standing on the perimeter of the forest. The winter sun watched over me as light snowflakes flitted around me, decorating my path. I moved one leg forward, then the other. The poles I held in each hand helped me maneuver into a rhythmical pace and I was on my way. This was doable. This was wonderful.
Soon we discovered local parks as if for the first time as we made new tracks through the local forest trails. Everything looked different, felt different under a fresh covering of pure snow. Something was exhilarating and creative about making fresh tracks where there was never any before. That was the beginning. I was captivated.
We made our first winter trip to the Lake Placid area and were introduced to a place called John Brown’s Farm just outside the village and near to high Mt. Van Hoevenberg, site of the Olympic ski jumping events of past years. Trails were relatively flat and easy to navigate but there were ruts from cross country skiers who had been there before us. Still, we found our rhythm gliding through the woods which were lit up by lanterns hanging from the snow-covered evergreen boughs and upper tree trunks. The quiet arrested me. It was all encompassing. The air was pure, cool and refreshing. The pine aroma was intoxicating. Why hadn’t we discovered this sooner? I breathed in this new reality and it traveled deep down into the roots of my soul.
In following years we discovered the Cascade Cross country Skiing facility and were thrilled to learn that it too had numerous snowshoeing trails at the base of that mountain. Their paths were well-worn but enjoyed nevertheless by us with childlike hearts.
So, this past weekend we arrived in snowy Wilmington near to the base of Whiteface Mountain. Cadence Lodge welcomed us with rustic charm in the little village so far North. My husband had seen on a map a snowshoeing trail at a place called The Flume whose water tumbled into the Ausable River. We had been by this locale in Summer but never in Winter.
At first, it seemed a little foreboding. The weather forecast was predicted to be cold, even subzero. What were we thinking? Had we overstepped our realistic capabilities. After all, we were not growing any younger. No, we had not come all this way just to enjoy food in newly discovered ADK restaurants. We hunkered down for the night and hibernated until morning in our little lodge room.
Morning light came and with it, a fresh coat of snow. After a hearty ADK breakfast, we began the ritual of donning three layers of Winter clothing. Included were special socks, boots and warming packets to be placed inside thermal mittens and gloves. After sufficient arctic protection was placed, we made our way toward the Flume.
After a series of tortuous twists and turns on the mountain road, we arrived. The scene was before us in a pristine covering of sparkling snow beneath a sudden appearance of mid-morning sun peeking out from behind a frozen cloud.
We endured the manifold calisthenics of bending down to connect the multiple fastenings of the snowshoes onto our boots. Such a feat with cold hands is not easily managed but soon the satisfying sounds of secured clasps and buckles gave us permission to proceed with the adventure.
Some brown trail signs with the characteristic yellow lettering pointed the way to several paths. We chose the one that paralleled the river and slowly, methodically began our trek.
No other tracks appeared! Ours were the very first. White and undisturbed, like a newly created Winter garden of wonder,…it was ours to experience. The simplicity of it halted me. I wanted to be present in the moment and take it all in.
My husband proceeded a ways ahead of me. I listened to the cascading, crisp winter waterfalls tumbling down the flume to crash into the swiftly moving, partially frozen river. I could see it from where I was as I found my rhythm and moved onto the crisp trail.
It led me down a gradual descent where I discovered a breathtaking view of a snow covered mountainous expanse in the distance. Here was a Winter Paradise that we were discovering for the very first time as we made fresh tracks. It was like no one else was around. The silence was deafening and magnificent. Soon a few other Winter hikers appeared and we shared the newly found wonder. They took our picture so we could document our dream.
The trail then led up a gradual incline and curled into the quiet woods. We proceeded methodically, rhythmically. Again, no other snowshoe tracks appeared. Our were the first! Something new was being created for the first time! I felt like I was being newly created too!
We arrived at the top where there was a crossroads. We stopped. I breathed in the quietude, took in the soul restoration, felt such gratitude to creation and the Creator. There was nothing like this. Oh to capture it, to savor it, to remember it always in the scrapbook of my memory’s imagination.
We made our way slowly back down the hill and bid adieu to the river and her waterfalls. Something was enlarged and more alive inside of me. Nature and I had a new connection, a new charm on my life experience bracelet. Something existed that had not been there before. Strange as it seemed, Winter had become my new companion.
Hours after we arrived back at the lodge and days after we arrived home, I still mused on that snowy ADK day of discovery. Making fresh tracks in the snow. What was there about that? A creation the snow and I had made together. Something forged to show I was there. Something so other that I do not know if anyone else would understand… until I told my son, the one who inspired me to snowshoe, about our trip.
He listened to my story and description of our day. He then asked me a question,” Mom, did you get to make fresh tracks?” “Yes,” I said, and waited. Then he added in a final, simple yet glorious response, ” Good, Mom. That’s my favorite part.”
The blatant cackling had been persistent for about ten minutes now. I had heard it before and knew it to be obnoxious crows. This is what they do from time to time. They pick a tree and gather in a seeming crow convention. You kind of learn to ignore it. This however was different. Accelerating in volume, intensity and maximum urgency, it drew me to the sliding glass door to peer outside. it was clear an alarm was being sounded that could not be ignored. But what was it?
I stepped out onto the deck, looked to my left and could not ignore the dramatic activity of multiple crows encircling a barren winter tree, at ever accelerating velocity. They were of one purpose with their mission, but what was it?
Suddenly I saw it! How could I have missed it? A single, majestic red-tailed hawk perched high up on a singular winter branch had snared a lone black crow. The captured one made no movement as it lay in the efficient, all-encircling talons of the hawk. Surely this was no contest between the two fowl families. All seemed lost for this unfortunate crow. Too little, too late, as they say.
And then an unexpected, marvelous thing happened, right before my eyes. Additional forces of crows appeared on the scene assisting their comrades. Their mission’s pace increased to a yet higher intensity. Around and around the crow army flew and called out. It was as if all the world was being invited to stop what it was doing and witness what was about to take place.
The dignified hawk abruptly dropped the seemingly lifeless crow from its great talons. Simultaneously, the crow stirred, “came to itself” and mounted up into the air while the hawk spread its massive wings and took efficient flight in the same direction towards the forest that adjoins our property.
Not to be outdone, the cackling group of crows mounted their flight like a well-oiled machine in pursuit of their clan’s new mortal enemy. The aerial display of the hawk swooping up and down in mid-air to dislodge his pursuers was impressive and inspiring to say the least. The volume of the pursuit, like the previous rescue, increased seemingly for all the world to hear and be impressed by. It did however take itself to an unseen realm in the woods where I could no longer observe and be amazed by this chance encounter.
So what lessons could I take away from this serendipitously observed event on a February winter’s afternoon? Power in numbers? Never give up? United purpose, agreeing “as one” never fails?
I found that I could not settle on a single inspirational message from what I had just been privileged to witness. Rather, I would simply savor in gratitude the wonder of creation and its Creator in those rare moments when I have been seemingly invited to behold what for many, is unseen…beyond the veil of dailiness. That day I was given the eyes to see and hears to hear. It was urgent alarm and more… in the calling of the crows.
My swimming pool can be a place of supernatural encounter where the water surrounds me and holds me like God does. With that can come a sense of uniting with nature in awe and pure adoration. Such serendipitous times are spontaneous, life-changing treasures that my heart wants to capture and remember…
Summer offers spontaneous surrealistic moments as gifts to us. Ready or not, they come. Having a heart to pause and take them in is a precious gift as well. Writing about them is my attempt to capture the encounter in time and share with other souls. Today I add this serendipitous event to my treasure trove of memories. Please enjoy.
