David Heiller
Cindy called me to the window
on Saturday morning. “Look at the deer,” she said. A couple of does were making
their way down the hill, taking their time, nibbling here and there.
Snow sifted lightly over them,
over the deck and woods, adding another coat to the start of this very fine winter.
Very fine winter? If you question
that sentence, head to Arizona. If not, then Saturday had it all.
Not just the deer in the woods,
but the birds milling around the feeder. Even they seemed happy. And people did
too.
Across the road, Duane Thomford
was checking in on his old stomping grounds. He has a bachelor pad on wheels out
in the field next to some unharvested corn. It’s not a bachelor pad in reality,
since Marilyn is very much alive and well. But it’s not a place that Marilyn or
most other women I know would fall
in love with. It’s basically a shed on wheels, with a bunk bed and
an old trash-burner for furnishings. But there are windows on all four sides, great
for watching coyotes and deer and turkeys and neighbors like me. Best of all it’s in the middle of
a piece of paradise that Duane knows better than anyone. Add those silent snowflakes
that wouldn’t quit falling, and it was a heavenly spot last Saturday. Duane didn’t
say that, but it was there, in his eyes, in the way he relaxed against his truck.
Happiness. Winter. They go together.
In town, I stopped to see Vance
Mitchell, and found him getting out the Christmas decorations, with the able assistance
of Julie and Matt. Or more likely it was Vance doing the assisting. That’s the way it is
with Christmas decorations, at least at our house. The Mitchells already had their
inflatable snowman set up outside, ready to rise up and greet the travelers on Highway
26.
Up the street, Dan Moriarty
leaned against a snow shovel in his yard, talking to a neighbor across the road.
“Got your decorations up yet?” he asked me, but not really waiting for an answer,
because he put his up a week ago, and there was a little pride in that old truck
driver’s voice when he told me that.
“You probably never took them
down from
last year,” I countered. That brought out Dan’s familiar guffaw. Either that or
Mary Ellen put them up for him. But I didn’t say that. Those old bachelors can get
touchy sometimes.
 |
| A red bellied woodpecker at a suet feeder. |
I stopped at the Meiners’
house to pick up some suet. Maureen greeted me at the door with her friendly
smile. “The birds are so busy, must be a change in the weather coming,” she
said, and I could tell that that wouldn’t bother her at all. Bring on the
winter, those tough old Langes believe.
Even at Mom’s, winter was
settling in just fine,
thank you. Cindy brought up the little Christmas tree that had waited patiently
in the basement for 11 months. They put on a few of the old ornaments. That
gave me a chance to admire the decorations left in the box.
They won’t fetch any money on Antiques Road Show. But they are priceless in the
eyes of the former kid that once put them up. Those silver and gold ones that
look like miniature disco balls when you
give them a spin. The balls with silhouettes cut out of deer and Santa and
candles. Even the plastic ones are special. Old and faded, the tiny ribs on
their surface worn smooth by many hands many years ago.
Cindy and I headed home
late in the afternoon. We drove past the Helke farm, its muted red barns the
only color in the black and white landscape. The snow kept falling, clinging to
the dark tree branches.
It was a magical time at a
magical season, the one
that always hits in early December, before Christmas. Saturday was the day.
Anyone who doesn’t think
winter is beautiful hasn’t driven the back roads of Houston County in the
fading light of a snowy December afternoon, with Christmas just around the
corner. You can ask Duane and Vance and Dan and Maureen and Mom and Cindy if
you don’t believe me.
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