First Snow--The Woods Transformed

As I write this we are experiencing the first snowfall of the season.  My sister Julie, her sweet three month old baby, my kids and I have just returned from a delightful walk at MacPhail Woods in Orwell. It was raining when we arrived and the air had a welcome briskness to it that we expect in mid November on Prince Edward Island. We walked past the ever beautiful old MacPhail homestead which incidentally, was still open for lunch from noon until 1:30pm this late in their season. Down through the old roadway covered with a thick blanket of wet oak leaves we traipsed with Julie's puppy running ahead, excited as the rest of us to be walking in such a beautiful locale.

Past the two towering hauntingly ancient stone drive markers and across the dirt and gravel side road to the wooden stairs that lead to the trail of three wooden foot bridges we walked. By the time we made it down to the river's edge the rain had turned to large wet snowflakes adding to the magical appeal of the still mossy green and fern fragrant quiet of the woods. We walked further than usual along the riverbank with Julie leading the way beyond where we usually turn to a place where a small stream feeds into the larger river. We came upon a little waterfall chortling as it made its way over the debris which created it. The sound of rushing water amid the hush of the snowy wood lent itself to a tranquil pause for us.

There is something about the first snowfall that is utterly trans-formative to my kids and I. Walking along watching as big wet splotches of snow descend upon the forest floor already slick with fallen leaves is mesmerizing. It reminded me that those banks of snow in later winter months are composed entirely of millions and millions of accumulated individual flakes. Just as a lifetime is composed entirely of individual moments, breaths that accumulate into stories, years. With this first snow you can see the little flakes sitting lonely on the ground, some resting in wet clumps, many melting as soon as they hit the still warm soil. We are part of this story that is unfolding. This was my sweet little nephew's first snowfall.

As we walked along my sister and I talked about how grateful we are to live in a part of the world that bears witness to the changing of seasons. Yes, admittedly, November and March are seasons of complaint here on the Island with their dull, wet barrenness, but they are necessary to the changeover and without them we could not fully appreciate the shifting nature of the land as it moves into and out of its requisite seasons of slumber and rebirth. We thought about how much more appreciative we are of the fragile and ever changing beauty of what each season uniquely offers us. And despite witnessing the changeover for many years we never tire of the wonder the first snowfall provides while slooshing through the wet leaves underfoot and pausing to watch the flakes descend through the now bare canopy of deciduous trees along the river. 

Life is constantly unfolding, and impermanence is part of the circle as it cycles onward.

My kids and I needed this today. We are at home on the Island while their dear father is on another Island; Cape Breton to be precise. He is there to bid farewell to and bury his ninety- nine year old grandmother. She was born in Big Pond, Cape Breton at seven months gestation, 99 years ago last spring. Weighing only two pounds, she was not expected to live the night and was placed in a shoe box in the warming oven of the wood stove. A fighter, she survived against all odds and went on to have ten children and live a full and honest life in Sydney. All of her  children and a great many of her descendants are gathered there today to pay their respects. I can see her resemblance in my oldest daughter's eyes.

Time moves onward, people grow old and pass away, seasons change and in doing so share many gentle lessons for us if we are willing students.

Today we bathed in the healing power of a woods we love. We watched as it was transformed by the soft glitter of the first snow, and breathed deeply as it transformed us as well.

Looking out to the snow right now it is difficult to believe that  it was only yesterday that we planted bulbs in our front bed in hopes that they will offer up to us their flowers in the springtime when we are all feeling more winter weary than today.

We are all humble, wondrous creatures of this Earth and to the Earth we shall someday all return. In the meantime, may we all share in the joys and sorrows of this world, receiving each equally as they come our way. 

In warmth,
Jill