Making My Peace with January
The previous Sunday I finally deemed the weather conditions suitable to mount my long-planned Winter Expedition to find the Eastward Passage. After studying various maps, I discovered that the end of my street meets up with a strip of land that now leads to - and is part of - the park a 5 minute drive from my house. Long have I wanted to be able to walk to the park, even though I knew the terrain might be difficult. But at least I wouldn’t be trespassing this time. After the leaves all fell in late Fall I saw that the way was a bit more clear than I thought it would be - for some 100 yards there was a gentle decline that looked like once upon a time it was intended to be an extension of the street, that was never constructed.
So I waited until most of the snow melted - because the ground would be treacherous enough without the snow covering all the various tripping hazards - and then waited some more until everything stopped being a saturated, soggy mess and refroze a bit. And then I made my move.
It was certainly the most rigorous hike I have had in many a year. I quickly spotted a deer interstate, judging from all the tracks, and followed their established trails for a while. I almost got lost, as I ascended a ridge that was parallel to a ravine I was trying to avoid, but which took me rather far from my intended destination. I had no choice but to descend deep into the ravine to correct my path. Before I started my descent I discovered an old hunting blind - a rotting wooden platform bracketed off the trunk of a large beech tree. It was likely used - illegally - when the land belonged to a country club. I saw a utility pole in the middle of nowhere, its wiring disconnected; it reminded me of the lamppost in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Later I saw an abandoned flow monitoring or pumping station of some sort, a cylinder of concrete rising from the ground like a large well, sporting posts with opened electrical panels. The derelict infrastructure doubtless was built by the last alliance of the Elves and Men, during the Second Age, long ago.
At last I reached my destination, and got to the paved path in the park. A couple was walking three beagles - or attempting to. The beagles were howling and off the path, straining at their leashes, snuffling along the ground and rushing in small circles, having caught the scent of some animal. I wondered if it was the same animal that made large fresh tracks in the remnants of snow that I had just passed by - it was some type of feline or canid. A bobcat? A coyote? Maybe even something larger? It will remain a mystery. I walked to the lake in the park, which was very close by, and rested on a bench. I was quite warm and panting at that point, even though the temperature was 30 degrees. The way home was easier - I found a better route, which hopefully I will be able to easily find next time. All in all, it was a success, and took less than two hours.
The last couple weeks I have started watching gardening videos on youtube...just thinking about things I might try to plant in spring. It softens and lessens the gloom. But the viewing has been slowly morphing into tours of cottage gardens and the like, which more and more are becoming my own personal version of Paradise.
But I have been getting a lot of youtube recommendations for scenic views in various different european locations. Makes me want to travel. During the holiday, I was listening to the Jethro Tull Christmas album, and one of the songs contained a line that really resonated with me. I hardly even pay attention to lyrics anymore, but this I can't get it out of my head: "Everybody is from somewhere, even if you've never been there." It's like the ancestral homeland calling you back. Sure, I will never reside in the Rhineland valley or Carpathian Basin, but maybe someday I could visit.
Anyway, I have decided to start keeping a gardening journal, since I know I cannot rely on my memory to retain dates and such. I will record names of plants I want to try (and the reasons for trying them), and the dates of when they are planted, and for the case of fruits and vegetables, when they become ready to harvest. I can also record unusual temperatures and weather conditions, and how much I spent on given projects in the yard. And I plan on including sketches of potential building projects, like an arbor or plans, such as for the raised bed I built last fall. This will be all on paper, which I think is still the proper medium for such records and doodlings.
So I waited until most of the snow melted - because the ground would be treacherous enough without the snow covering all the various tripping hazards - and then waited some more until everything stopped being a saturated, soggy mess and refroze a bit. And then I made my move.
It was certainly the most rigorous hike I have had in many a year. I quickly spotted a deer interstate, judging from all the tracks, and followed their established trails for a while. I almost got lost, as I ascended a ridge that was parallel to a ravine I was trying to avoid, but which took me rather far from my intended destination. I had no choice but to descend deep into the ravine to correct my path. Before I started my descent I discovered an old hunting blind - a rotting wooden platform bracketed off the trunk of a large beech tree. It was likely used - illegally - when the land belonged to a country club. I saw a utility pole in the middle of nowhere, its wiring disconnected; it reminded me of the lamppost in The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. Later I saw an abandoned flow monitoring or pumping station of some sort, a cylinder of concrete rising from the ground like a large well, sporting posts with opened electrical panels. The derelict infrastructure doubtless was built by the last alliance of the Elves and Men, during the Second Age, long ago.
At last I reached my destination, and got to the paved path in the park. A couple was walking three beagles - or attempting to. The beagles were howling and off the path, straining at their leashes, snuffling along the ground and rushing in small circles, having caught the scent of some animal. I wondered if it was the same animal that made large fresh tracks in the remnants of snow that I had just passed by - it was some type of feline or canid. A bobcat? A coyote? Maybe even something larger? It will remain a mystery. I walked to the lake in the park, which was very close by, and rested on a bench. I was quite warm and panting at that point, even though the temperature was 30 degrees. The way home was easier - I found a better route, which hopefully I will be able to easily find next time. All in all, it was a success, and took less than two hours.
The last couple weeks I have started watching gardening videos on youtube...just thinking about things I might try to plant in spring. It softens and lessens the gloom. But the viewing has been slowly morphing into tours of cottage gardens and the like, which more and more are becoming my own personal version of Paradise.
But I have been getting a lot of youtube recommendations for scenic views in various different european locations. Makes me want to travel. During the holiday, I was listening to the Jethro Tull Christmas album, and one of the songs contained a line that really resonated with me. I hardly even pay attention to lyrics anymore, but this I can't get it out of my head: "Everybody is from somewhere, even if you've never been there." It's like the ancestral homeland calling you back. Sure, I will never reside in the Rhineland valley or Carpathian Basin, but maybe someday I could visit.
Anyway, I have decided to start keeping a gardening journal, since I know I cannot rely on my memory to retain dates and such. I will record names of plants I want to try (and the reasons for trying them), and the dates of when they are planted, and for the case of fruits and vegetables, when they become ready to harvest. I can also record unusual temperatures and weather conditions, and how much I spent on given projects in the yard. And I plan on including sketches of potential building projects, like an arbor or plans, such as for the raised bed I built last fall. This will be all on paper, which I think is still the proper medium for such records and doodlings.