It was busy on and around the pond this morning. On our way to the easement, dog and I saw three adults peering up into an evergreen, the man pointing with his whole arm extended, the women trying to see what he was seeing. All were intent, concentrating hard. The object of their scrutiny was between them and us, so I didn’t call out. The bird didn’t either, so I don’t know what they found, but I’m glad they found it and that they cared enough to stop and look.
In the woods at the bottom of the easement, dog and I saw a young father and three young children out birding, binoculars and all. They were looking at a red-shouldered hawk sitting at the top of a leafless tree. We chatted for a moment, then the two little girls started walking toward us, ready to pet the dog. I reminded them, with regret, that we should keep our distance because of CoVid, and we went our separate ways.
Moments later, there came the pounding of little boots and the snowy path. It was the girls, having conferred with Dad. “We don’t want to pet the dog,” one announced. “We just want to know what kind it is.” How nice that they want an interaction, I thought. We discussed breed characteristics, and the dog posed patiently by way of illustration. How helpful he was isn’t clear, given that he had been vacuuming his snout through the fresh powder and his face, up to the eyes, was covered with the stuff. The girls were pleased, though, and returned to the dad.
The next time I saw the group, they were out on the ice. The little boy was on his own, trying to shovel one of the multiple hockey rinks. It looked like a little squirt struggling to stay on his skates while wrestling an adult-sized snow shovel—determined, unselfconscious, charming. Of course, he wasn’t wearing skates at all, just boots, hence his difficulty maintaining his footing.
Dog and I kept walking, and I kept watching the ice. There were other folks out, some of them on rinks, some not. Some with skates on, some not. Little guys with parents. Then we saw the dad-group again, all three kids dashing around the rink and Dad plying the shovel. Pretty soon, the kids started organizing races, in groups of two and all three of them together. The race they seemed to like best was the three of them tearing across the ice, slipping and sliding in their boots, while Dad had to race while shoveling. They beat him handily, shrieking with laughter. Good work, Dad.
I was pleased to see neighbors, particularly small ones, out looking for birds and enjoying the ice. There need to be high points, moments of interest and laughter, in this time of CoVid. And from children’s nurtured curiosity about and interaction with the natural world come tomorrow’s conservationists.
Completing our circumnavigation of the pond and moving on to the Sugarbush woods, we noticed trees laden with winter blossom. Such blossoms are single in nature and tend to be heavy and brightly colored. A hat here, a glove there, a scarf—all of them retrieved from the snow by passersby and draped over low-hanging branches, where most of them will remain the rest of the winter.
Earlier this week, we experienced an opposite phenomenon, one of lightness, in terms of both weight and optics. We received several dustings of snow of the sort that looks to be full of mica flakes. We also had brilliantly sunny days, so those mica-flake look-alikes were dazzling. And elusive. If you tried to focus on one, it disappeared. But news ones appeared as old ones vanished. There was no end to the splendor.
One day this week, there was enough wind to send new-fallen flakes of powder airborne, where they remained suspended a moment, as if weightless, before swirling, glistening to the ground. For us, the effect was of living in a snow globe.
The image that has stayed in my mind for days is from that same day. Any breath of wind, the merest exhalation, would lift puffs of snow from branches. And the little pillows would ride the air without tilting, for all the world like magic carpets, until they landed softly in the snow. What a way to go, from like to like, supported and unfaltering, then blending with all that went before.
It was a good week for ice and snow in our corner of Michigan.
12 February 2021