Sunday, January 25, 2015

Something Out There

Do you ever get that feeling in your gut that something is terribly, terribly wrong?  I do, and my gut has proven itself so many times in the past, that I can't help but trust it.

Last Thursday I was snowshoeing in the bush.  I'd gone through the lower field and then up the old ski hill into the woods.  I hiked along the edge of the upper field and continued deep into the trees.  Soon, I was following the river up toward Martin Lake.  Last winter I happened upon a sweet little waterfall and rapids and wanted to find the spot again.

Going in, I was slightly apprehensive as it's about an hour hike in, which is putting me at a distance from home that I'm not entirely comfortable with while alone.

I was following my old tracks when I came across a big moose track.  Moose punch deep holes in the snow with their long, long legs.  I saw where the moose had stopped to munch on some hemlock, then veered off my track.

Next, I came to a wolf or coyote track.  They are everywhere in the fields, and don't often give me pause, but this far out, I was a little concerned.

Hearing the rapids, I pushed on.  I was winding my way through the thick hemlocks, trying to figure out how I'd made it down to the riverbank the last time I'd been out here.  The trees seemed impenetrable.  I said out loud, "how in the world did I get down there last time!?".  And then, I heard a "WHOOOOOSH" sound, and it filled the silence all around me.  I don't know what it was,  and I'm not even going to make any guesses, but all of the tiny bits of apprehension I'd felt up to that moment hit me HARD.  My heart was pounding and I turned and followed my path back as fast as I could move.

I feel there is something out by those rapids.  There is definite and obvious animal activity - big animals.  It is something I don't want to meet face to face and I'm certain it wants nothing to do with me.

There have been two other occasions I've been out that way and felt a presence.  Once last winter and once last spring.  I get a feeling in my gut that something isn't right every time I'm there (and yet, I keep returning...).  A feeling in my gut that makes me move away, turn back and not linger.  Like I said, I'm not making any guesses, and it could be lots of different things, but it's something.

Sunday, January 4, 2015

Into the Woods

Today I walked into the woods in the blowing wind and snow.  In the field, the wind was wicked, but upon entering the woods, everything was hushed and the snow feel thickly, but gently, all around.


When the snow is falling heavily on the trees, everything is lovely.  Everything is art.

Tall trees arch like cathedrals.  Snow nestles on pine and spruce branches just so.  Everywhere I look, all I see is something perfectly beautiful.  It's more than I can describe in words, these perfect hikes.  Days like these feed my soul.


Saturday, January 3, 2015

Keep Your Chin Up

I hope you know what if feels like to have someone be consistently proud of you.   I hope you have someone in your life that can always impart a quiet wisdom, that can bolster your confidence and build you up from the inside out.  I hope that there is someone in your life that can make you feel better just for having been in their presence.  A person that affirms what you know in your soul to be true.
I know what that feels like, and I am grateful everyday.
I have been feeling particularly defeated lately.  My saving grace has been my Grandad's voice in my ear -
I am.  And I will.  Because his pride in me is a light that I refuse to let be extinguished.
My Grandad and my daughter, Clare on Christmas Eve 2014.

Monday, December 22, 2014

Christmas Tree

Christmas trees are magic.

There is comfort in the glow of the light,  and wonder held in its branches.

I love our tree. Years ago I decided on a white, glass and metallic theme and haven't looked back.  Before kids, I was known to decorate and redecorate the tree twice, and once THREE times.  I don't think I've ever told anyone else that but for my husband.  I was that set on perfection.

Now I am just happy to get it up in a timely manner, and you know what?  It doesn't look that much different or any less perfect that the years I redecorated it multiple times.

I hope my kids get from our tree what I do.  Hope and light, mystery and magic.

Sunday, December 21, 2014

Our Mystery

Saturday morning, Clare woke up saying "owl, owl, owl".  She was pointing at the window in our room and over the edge of the bed.  She seemed surprised to find there was no owl in the room and was clearly trying to tell me that there was *something* going on in that room.  We lay in bed for a little while, and she kept on with "owl" and pointing.  To the ceiling, to the window, and continually to the floor beside the bed.
This morning, upon waking, Henry and I found a feather in our living room.  It's a few inches long and is not from one of our down comforters or jackets, Nor is it a craft feather.  It definitely came in from outside.
I'm not sure exactly what is going on, but as Henry said, "we"ll have to keep our eyes open!"

Saturday, December 20, 2014

Once Upon a Time

Once upon a time, if I wanted to see a fantastic sunrise, I needed to plan. To get up early and go somewhere outside of my house. Once upon a time I lived in a subdivision. Up until we moved to Maple Lake, I had lived in subdivisions all my life. I didn't realize how much it was changing the way I thought and acted until I moved here.  

Now I can wake up, look outside and see something wonderful. Something that inspires and sustains me.  

A few weeks ago, my Grandad was visiting and told me that I'd changed since we moved. I know I have. I feel like moving here has helped me move backwards in time- back to a time of more hopefulness and inspiration, childlike wonder and a feeling that anything is possible. 

All thanks to a sunrise.  

Friday, December 19, 2014

Moving Through Time

It's 5:50 a.m. and I am awake, drinking coffee in my kitchen.  The ice is so loud this morning that I can hear it inside.  It's -14C.  The ice becomes louder as the temperature drops. 

The Christmas tree glows behind me and the coffee maker continues on it's annoying tick, tick, tiiiick that I only seem to hear when no one else is up.  Time is ticking, too.  It's now 5:53 and I wait.  This morning I am waiting for the phone to ring - hoping that I will be called to teach.  Supply teacher worries.

I haven't written in six months.  It's not because I haven't had anything to say, and it's not because I have been too busy.  I don't know.  My attention is divided, I suppose.  Time slips away and while I am constantly filled with words, I often struggle to let them out. 

This morning I was moved to pick up a pencil and put it to paper, which is the way I used to start all of my writing.  A simple pencil and paper.  And with that, Clare is stirring and my time here is done.  5:57 a.m.