WINTER'S BELLY

It's March 1st and it's coming in like a lamb. I look out the window and through the shimmer sheen of growing icicles and feel just now, like I am in the belly of winter. Winter draws me inward and begs me to keep close to the woodstove where I look at seed catalogues and read great books and they become my circle of friends for the winter season. We've been here in Maine for 11 years now and as I warm myself by the fire, I review my winters here and like the frosted window panes echo the mountain lanscape, I can see patterns etched from the memories of previous winters. I've learned not to sign myself up for night classes in winter. It just seems to go against my nature- which begs me to relax at home on winter evenings and seek warmth in hearthside connection...be it Stephen or the puppy or a good story. Over the 11 years, I've grown content with my own company and the warm breath of my house is a presence that no longer puts me on edge. I find the silence relaxing and the push, push, push of do that and do this and go here and then there and get involved in that cause and go to that meeting and all that busy-ness just seems to have flowed right by me like water under the bridge. Have I changed or has the vast open landscape entered and changed me? I seem to have lost the urgency to do and in the process, I've discovered how to be. I like it.

Today I went skiing by myself and though it looked like the wind would keep lots of lifts shut down, the sky was cloudless and bluebird and I craved the sun entering my squinty slits for eyes. I felt peaceful. Riding the chairlift and looking down at the snow covered treetops, I felt so lucky. Lucky to be dangling in the sunny cold air on a monday morning over Monday Morning(the trail).The stiff gusty wind would blow and puffs of powder would billow up and catch the sunlight, floating in the air like little rainbows dancing their way to somewhere. It was cold and my toes reached a point of discomfort after a few hours. The cold got into my bones and crusted the inside of my nose. I realized that I used to feel self concious when I skied alone and very aware of how happy all the people appeared because they were sharing the activity. Somewhere along my path, I learned to think of being alone as being lonely and I think I missed alot of living because I felt so awkward as a solo person. Today, I skied my own pace and rode the lift sometimes with strangers and sometimes with silence and alone. I believe the growth I was experiencing in my comfort level skiing alone, gave me a satisfaction that startled me. When I had enough, I left...my rush today was hustling home to let Sadie out of her crate and to take her snowshoeing up behind the house. I do all the talking when we snowshoe. I'm practicing the art of comingling with the trees..breathing out for them and breathing in what they give out. The only noise was the shush of the shoes crunching the crusty snow. Sadie was silent...chasing pinecones and following blowing beech leaves as they skittered across the snow.She buries her head and grabs at twigs to peel the bark and snap them off the plant. Her gnawing on the cold twigs was a companionable sound as she left me to think my own thoughts.

Before I knew it, I had skied for 3 hours and snowshoed uphill in heavy snow for more than an hour. When the 3 wild turkeys took off from the hill just 100 yds. above us we were awestruck by their size and by their heavy bodies taking flight. I was breathless but sweating from the exertion.

Yep...it sure seems like the thick belly of winter as I look through the icicle teeth hanging before my eyes. As the sun begins to descend slowly, the soft colors shine through the ice and I can see rings of thicker ice marking the growth of the icicles as they melted. There is a deep blanket of snow and ice left by the hard work of February and spring seems very far away. When I feel discouraged about winter and mud season, I remember my asparagus shoots way down deep in the dirt waiting to push their tips up through the ground whenever Mother nature's alarm goes off. I think about the fattening of the garlic bulbs and the sleeping bears and chipmunks and I settle myself by the fire in my den and I don't feel alone. I have grown another ring and in a short time, the sap will begin to move up the trunks of the sugar maples and Stevo and I will begin to gather the sweetness to simmer over an outdoor cookstove while we chat and eat peanuts in the sun.