Walkin in a Winter Wonderland

Lake didn't come up to eat today. By noon I was getting kind of worried - she is an old girl, after all. So I decided to go and find her, somewhere on the rolling 60 acres.

When I say rolling, I mean rolling - you can't see the back hill from the house, and you can't see the house once you cross the first hill. It isn't all straight back and north from the house, either - the property jogs sharply to the west, then north again. Sometimes all you can see from the middle of the property is the town water tower - and it is so short they are not required to put lights on it.

The snow has been pouring down all day. It makes the back hills disappear in a fog of snowfall. So I started on my walk, bundled against the cold, with snowflakes dusting my coat and hat and scarf before I was over the first hill.

I walked first to the valley that she likes the best. No Lake. I then started up toward the Twisted Cedars - a grove of cedar trees that have become so twisted and warped by the wind that their roots are exposed, yet they still grow. One of the big branches - thicker than my thigh - was smashed by wind; I'll need to clean that up, but not now, later.

I headed west, the wind at my back whenever I topped a rise, but otherwise eddying around me. Not a lot of wind - only about 10 mph today. I can see the distant fence posts, but not the barbed wire attached to them, marching like dark pencil-sentinels over the hills. Finally, topping a rise, I see Lake - head down, munching and meandering. I walk toward her, and she walks away. This is a good sign - she can move, just doesn't want to be bothered. I half-heartedly herd her a little, mostly just wanting to make it to the western fence to see the rest of the landscape, make sure nothing is out of place. She ambles away from me, intent on her own horse priorities. I can see that she is confused - she didn't expect me to come out there, not in this weather. She nickers and snorts, and casts her ears forward, as if asking if I'm okay. Even when she puts her head down to munch, she still looks at me inquisitively. I talk to her a little, to reassure her that I'm not completely crazy. She apparently doesn't believe me. Of course, she's the one with a snowdrift on her back!

Then I walked back to the middle of the property. The wind is against me, and the cold is cutting across my cheeks; I pull my scarf up over my nose up to my eyes and keep walking. The snow is squeaking under my boots, but that's the only sound. There's no traffic on the state highway on the outskirt of the town. There's no sound at all. There are turkey and rabbit tracks in the snow, but no lights, no sound, no movement anywhere. Then I walked down the fence line to the gate at the middle of the property, the gate that opens up onto the last road at the western edge of town. I slip through and secure it tightly again, and walk up the street toward home. Again, no sounds, no movement. Everyone is inside away from the snow. They probably think I'm crazy, walking down the middle of the street in a snowstorm that is untrammeled by any feet, walking in between the car ruts that are fast-filling with the falling snow.

I cannot understand why people dislike snowstorms, avoid them, don't like to be out in them. Being trapped or stranded is one thing, but when you live in it, why not enjoy whatever it brings?