Under the snowshoe moon ~ January 18, 2001

David Heiller

Mother Nature held a flashlight in her hand last week, steady like a night watchman. She guided us home from work with it, then waited patiently outside the door while we made supper and got the kids settled. Then she said, “Come on, let’s go.”

We had to listen, Cindy and I. It would have been a sacrilege of sorts to hear it and see it and then look the other way.

So we put on snowshoes and headed for the woods.

We walked side by side. Our two dogs bounded ahead, as thrilled as we were by this unexpected evening jaunt. The trail was packed hard from other hikes we have made. And they were all fine hikes. Even a 10-minute snowshoe jaunt is good for the body and soul.

But as the flashlight rose in the sky, this walk was pretty close to heaven. The moon played a part. It was so bright we could have read a book by its light. Experts say that the December moon is the brightest of the year. It follows the same high path across the sky that the sun takes in June. But this January moon challenged that theory.

As we left the field and entered the woods, the trees seemed to welcome us. They weren’t black and stern like trees on other nights. They were different shades of gray and brown and green, as subtle and warm as an old photograph. Their branches threw lacy blue shadows on the snow.

The snow. We have snow! It takes three dry winters to put an exclamation point behind that word. But it was well-deserved.

We wandered in and out of familiar spots.

Past the stump of the old maple that used to hold four sap taps. It fell down two winters ago. Past the spot where I cut the Christmas tree. Down the road, across the creek.

It was all familiar, even in its evening gown. We only own 35 acres. Our woods are two-thirds of that. But I know every foot of them, and that feels as good as an old flannel shirt.

At one spot three or four different deer trails cut across our path. “This is where I’m going to build a deer stand,” I said.

“Play banjo, play banjo,” Cindy chanted. She doesn’t want to see me pick up another hobby. We talked about this and that. We watched the dogs cavort around us. We braced ourselves a for the explosion of a grouse in the deep snow by our sides, but the grouse were content to lie still. Mostly we held hands and walked and listened to the night.

We could have walked to Canada. But our other life beckoned from the dot of yellow light in the distance, and we turned for home.

Across the field, so open and bright, an owl hooted a good-bye.

Same to you, I thought. And thanks!