Winter Begins

I'm sure glad I dealt with my wood pile when I did. The snow has been falling relentlessly for days, and this morning the tips of Sloan were finally visible again,  painted orange in the sun's light. A beautiful sunny day illuminating the fresh feet of snow.

Today I took the students cross country skiing for PE. The school, being in such a mountainous location, has a whole bucket of skis, enough for ten kids! There was even a pair of boots, skis and poles that fit me perfectly. A parent who runs the preschool on Mondays and Thursdays brought his skis and set out a track for us around the field, and then we finished the hour by playing ski tag. It was so much fun, and I am looking forward to getting out with the kids onto some of the trails around town.

I am constantly amazed by the solitary moments out in nature here. I spend so many of my hours outside, more than I ever have in my life. There is a lot of physical work to be done, from splitting and stacking wood to shoveling through the feet of heavy early-season snow to create paths to my sheds and out of my driveway. I enjoy the work. It's repetitive, and because of that it becomes almost meditative, like walking in the woods. Each evening after I arrive home from the school I take Sanford out on a long walk in the turning night. We bound through the snow, and now it is deep enough to warrant snowshoes, although Sanford doesn't make it nearly as far with his sinking paws.

The other night I was out excavating my driveway under the clear starry sky. There was not a single car that passed, even though it took me over two hours to dig out my car and clear paths to my sheds. Many moments to stare at the stars, to feel in nature, to feel a part of something larger than the self. A place to expand, to pause and watch the breath linger in the air. The city contracts me, presses down on my soul. I realise this now. Here I feel free to grow, to let my roots get down deep, to feel what it is like to exist without the constraints of the city. Now that I am through the adjustment phase I am absolutely loving it here, loving the solitude, the quiet reflection.

After shovelling all night and splitting wood under the stars I awoke in the middle of the night to the sound of what I at first thought was a highways plough. They are one of the few vehicles that regularly occupy the roads here, with their flashing orange lights a beacon of their passing. It sounded like the same dull roar, and then it was gone as suddenly as it began. It came back a second time, and my brain tried to catch the noise, to pin it down to something that I know. I soon realised it was a wind coming in howling gusts between the cracks in my windows and doors, so strong it was haunting. I listened to it whistle through the trees and through my house like a spirit from the mountain itself, the voice of winter calling out from her midnight slumber, calling out to those listening in the night, to those living in the shadow of the mountain.