Winter Walk

THOUGHTS ON A WINTER WALK

I trudge forward leaning into a biting wind,
struggling on, step by step through 10 inches of new snow.
With head down, shoulders hunched, I grasp my coat at the
collar to keep snow and cold from blowing down. My thoughts
whirl like the snow, and images and questions form in my
mind.

Why am I here, in Door County on New Years Day? The
reason follows me, stepping in my tracks, shoulders back,
head up, observant and enjoying.

The view from the cliffs of Cave Point Park is
spectacular. Probably the same view many a sailor saw just
before a wet and frozen death in Lake Michigan. The roiling
green and gray water of the storm sends great breakers
crashing into the cliffs. Frothy water shoots 40 feet into
the air coating rocks and vegetation that freezes instantly
to ice. The cliffs are a series of gigantic icicles
reaching almost to the water.

I press on across the unblemished carpet of snow. The
evergreens heavy with frosting droop toward the earth. It
doesn't matter where I lead. It will be the perfect day to
her, as long as my destination isn't the warmth and shelter
of the car. She's in her glory out here walking in nature's
dimensions.

She's my wife who moo's at cows and carries on
conversations with horses. She claims to be descended from
an Indian princess, which her mother too vehemently denies.
A blast of cold wind numbs my face.

Why? Why did white men always marry Indian princesses?
Were there truly that many chiefs? Were the Indian
commoners ugly or unfit? The Indian wives walked behind,
too, at a respectable distance.

How could they exist in this bitter cold, dressed in
deer skins and moccasins? Her ancestors must have braved
that cold to hunt for food to prevent starvation or a least
delay it. Was life a continual battle? Discomfort being a
way of life? Was starvation and disease like the wolf,
continually stalking the living? No wonder the warrior
walked this winter path with bow and arrow ready.

Thank God for our condo with its flush toilets, gas
heat, and hot whirlpool bath. Who could believe that the
beautiful winter scene from its windows would turn into this
white frozen hell when we go out the door.

The surf crashing on the cliffs sounds like distant
artillery. At another time and another place, men in
uniforms trudged painfully through the snow. Day after day,
up and down the mountain roads following trucks filled with
the refuse of war, the wounded and the dead. They plodded
southward in retreat, while in the distance the sound of
artillery was like a booming surf on the shore.

Tired and cold they fought exhaustion and remained
alert to dangers that could emerge from the woods at any
time. They walked onward, perhaps to their deaths, but to
fall behind made death more certain. So boots slipped and
men stumbled and cursed but they continued south.

A sudden movement of brown at the edge of the woods
startles me. A deer moved quietly into the meadow and
sensing us freezes for a good 60 seconds. Only fifty feet
away, I also freeze, and hear her whisper, "Oh, look."

This is better than Christmas and her birthday
combined. She will talk of this for years to come. Finally
this magnificent deer - probably beset with ticks, tumors,
and intestinal parasites and facing three more months of
this terrible cold - turns and walks majestically back into
the forest.

My God, I'm getting colder. My toes are numb. But not
her. The memory of that deer will keep her warm. I
proceed, stamping my feet to improve circulation.

My good friend Al used to go out in the cold and snow.
He was a jogger and was proud that he went daily regardless
of weather conditions. I can picture him running, one
frozen step after another in the twenty below temperature
and punishing wind. What makes a man endure this with
enthusiasm and determination?

Why not watch television, or pursue a woodworking hobby
instead of this torture? What vanity drives a man to this?
Al is dead now. One beastly night he didn't return from the
run. A victim of a heart attack and the subzero cold,
leaving a widow and two lovely daughters to face the world
alone.

The car is up ahead. I can make it. At last. The key
turns hard in my brittle fingers, and I climb in
anticipating the warmth and comfort. The motor roars to
life and although the interior is cold, at least we're out
of the wretched wind. We roll out of the park and head up
the road toward the condo.

"You're so quiet. What do you think about when were
out there?"

"Oh - nothing." I respond.

Removing her glove she takes my hand and gives it a
gentle squeeze. "Thanks for taking me." she says.

I return the squeeze knowing that this is my motivation
for taking a winter walk.

END

Story ID:	355
Written by:	Dick Dunlap (bio, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Musings, Essays and Such
Location:	Door County Wisconsin USA
Year:	2003
Person:	My Self