February 2, 2011
Snow days galore since the beginning of the year. I think last week was the first full week that I went into work. Can’t say I haven’t minded the days to go out and play, or struggle in the snow. Each storm has brought about a foot of snow on average, and wind each time.
Today the birds are greedily working at the bird feeder. I have a new one that the squirrels can’t take over. I don’t mind that they get the seed on the ground, and I have actually begun to put some extra winter rye seed on the steps for them. As I make my rounds in the woods, I come across their caches. Tracks lead to a hole in the snow and remnants of acorn hulls and scales of pinecones litter the area.
On the new loop, I go by the den of the beaver (I think, as the only tracks I saw from it led to and from one of the mighty oaks they have been chewing). The warmth of their bodies keeps it open, and the snow crystalizes in lovely patterns. It is now a long way down to the actually entrance in the earth. It looks like they are taking an extra-long slumber; it has been three weeks since I have seen tracks.
This morning I went out while the snow was beginning to fall. It is very quiet during storms like this. I hear the quality of the snowflakes as they land upon my nylon parka, the pines, firs or still hanging oak and beech leaves. Each object the flakes fall upon affords a different tone and volume.
The river and even the waterfall is almost completely enshrouded in snow. There are no dark pools showing against the stark white of winter. Only just under the base of the fall and some of the surrounding rocks shows any hint that something is moving under the snow. I dare not try walking across even still, although the lure of the hemlock grove on the other side of my swimming hole is enticing. In the summer, I would think about swimming across to then walk in those woods, but it would have required I transport shoes across too and I was then always just a little bit too lazy. There is always next summer.