The footsteps of winter

Very early autumn, 2010 ~

One could feel the first chilling breezes of autumn as early as Labor Day. The foliage was beginning its conversion from deep green to gold, and the leaves had gone from tender and flexible to slightly crisp… a change that was conspicuous, if not to the touch, then by the bristling sound they made as they waved in the wind.

I catch myself trying to imagine life as it was perhaps a century or more ago, as people prepared for the onset of winter here in Minnesota. In my mental picture of that history, life presented few of today's conveniences; there was no running water, no electricity or the fancy appliances it powers, few of the comforts modern life has taught us to take for granted.

The harvest was carefully stored to prevent vermin, moisture or mold from stealing the crop. Pork had to be salted away in brine, in case other livestock should perish and venison should be too scarce. Fruits and berries were put-up in jams and preserves, and vegetables were steamed and vacuum-sealed into jars starting as early as late July, a task that would not be complete until late fall. And weeks were spent cutting and splitting logs, in quantities sufficient to keep a small house tolerably warm over the brutal months of snow and ice. Anything one might need between now and spring had to be carefully thought of and prepared-for in advance; in Minnesota, winter is long and unforgiving.

While on a less life-and-death scale, I have found myself preparing for winter these days, too. It has been a very busy year, with many demands swallowing-up the time I would rather have spent on a river or trail. As if cutting timber for the woodshed, I find myself collecting scenes of summer… even by staring just a few seconds longer when I look out the window, glance toward the meadow, or gaze up at the night sky. I am stuffing memories into my mental closet... and collecting some books that will take me to fascinating places, even in the depths of January: Thoreau, Muir, Pinchot, Burroughs. Perhaps I should set-aside some photographs from Ansel Adams, and observations that are more current and close to home, like the writings of Greg Breining.

I know these books—plus some of my own photos, perhaps—will be an insufficient substitute for actually walking outside on warm summer day. But they are the only reasonable replacement for actually being in the woods or on the water.
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At mid-afternoon, Julie (my wife) interrupts my train of thought with an urgent idea. She asks, “Why don’t you take some time and hit the river with your canoe today?”

Knowing a more brilliant idea could not possibly exist, I set down my pen and quickly head for the garage. Within moments, my canoe and I are headed for a landing ten miles to the west on the Crow River. My cruise will end just as dark falls, if I paddle quickly.

Late in the trip, I capture the silhouette of an American Bald Eagle. We seemed to have something in common: The desire to take pause... and enjoy some of the final moments of the season.

Look long and listen closely, my friend. Winter’s footsteps are not far behind.
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© 2010 Mike D. Anderson. All rights reserved.