Triaqua trail journey, Exploring the woods 6
The dips in the path beyond the mouth of the pond were so predictable. I knew where they were, how deep they'd be, what would come next. I stood and gazed across Canary Meadow to Horseshoe Island Tipi at Serenity Dippity Pond. A pathway through the yellow dried grass linked these two ponds. However the blue fabric wasn't in the path, or was it snow-covered?
I already knew I had no intention of walking between the two, that side of the triangle had wet areas. Even though I had my feet in plastic bags in my crocs, or Mukwahs, I wasn't interested in any challenge that could leave me cold and wet while I already had a bad cough. Plus Willem wasn't with me. Not that he'd be able to do much for me if I stumbled and got myself soaked in the marshy canary grass and bulrushes, other than help me to my feet.
No, not today. I looked at the three chairs where the kids had sat when they'd come home for thanksgiving. Alida, Daniel and Abraham. I'd brought over another chair to sit with them as well. The chairs were all turned down now, facing the ground with two inches of snow on them. They were dry on the underside. I'd leave them like that, then they'll be dry when we come to sit again.
I continued up the path, alongside the chairs which lay on what we had once called The Beach, an area of sand we'd levelled out a bit to give the kids access to frog catching at this pond many years ago.
The weeds in the pond appeared to be a foot below the surface of the water. Four feet tall near the edge, so much taller in the deep center of the pond. I remembered how they had scratched me as Willem and I had walked among them pulling them out and tossing them onto the shore years ago. Icy iceberg water.
Down the side of the dish around the pond, I arrived at the beginning of the nylon fabric pathway. Gingerly I put a pole on the end of the slippery, snow-covered trail, then stepped on it. Down the first few steps, around the stump, curving to the right slightly, then straight for another 20 feet, the fabric wrinkles acted and looked more like undulating waves in the ocean, waves that bounced back if you stood on them, not the smooth pathway we'd created and repeatedly straightened out. That was before all the rain, the rising water table below the fabric, the frost, the strong winds and the deep freeze that had preceded the arrival of three inches of snow. The fabric was frozen in place, to the grass if not to slight water below the surface.
The tracks I'd made on the carpet on my way to Iceberg Pond were now grey white slush. The dry snow belied the moisture lying below. I kept to the high sides of the fabric where the grass was thicker beneath, where it had been bent over, the many leaves having added mass to the once six feet tall swaying grass.
I was relieved to arrive back at Deer Blind Tipi and the safety of the flat laneway.
I already knew I had no intention of walking between the two, that side of the triangle had wet areas. Even though I had my feet in plastic bags in my crocs, or Mukwahs, I wasn't interested in any challenge that could leave me cold and wet while I already had a bad cough. Plus Willem wasn't with me. Not that he'd be able to do much for me if I stumbled and got myself soaked in the marshy canary grass and bulrushes, other than help me to my feet.
No, not today. I looked at the three chairs where the kids had sat when they'd come home for thanksgiving. Alida, Daniel and Abraham. I'd brought over another chair to sit with them as well. The chairs were all turned down now, facing the ground with two inches of snow on them. They were dry on the underside. I'd leave them like that, then they'll be dry when we come to sit again.
I continued up the path, alongside the chairs which lay on what we had once called The Beach, an area of sand we'd levelled out a bit to give the kids access to frog catching at this pond many years ago.
The weeds in the pond appeared to be a foot below the surface of the water. Four feet tall near the edge, so much taller in the deep center of the pond. I remembered how they had scratched me as Willem and I had walked among them pulling them out and tossing them onto the shore years ago. Icy iceberg water.
Down the side of the dish around the pond, I arrived at the beginning of the nylon fabric pathway. Gingerly I put a pole on the end of the slippery, snow-covered trail, then stepped on it. Down the first few steps, around the stump, curving to the right slightly, then straight for another 20 feet, the fabric wrinkles acted and looked more like undulating waves in the ocean, waves that bounced back if you stood on them, not the smooth pathway we'd created and repeatedly straightened out. That was before all the rain, the rising water table below the fabric, the frost, the strong winds and the deep freeze that had preceded the arrival of three inches of snow. The fabric was frozen in place, to the grass if not to slight water below the surface.
The tracks I'd made on the carpet on my way to Iceberg Pond were now grey white slush. The dry snow belied the moisture lying below. I kept to the high sides of the fabric where the grass was thicker beneath, where it had been bent over, the many leaves having added mass to the once six feet tall swaying grass.
I was relieved to arrive back at Deer Blind Tipi and the safety of the flat laneway.