thirty minutes or more

Because I've committed to this challenge, I've been spending a minimum of thirty minutes in nature every day. So far, it's been easy. The weather has finally turned, and it feels like winter might not come back for a while. So I've been spending afternoons wandering around in the not-yet-budded aspen forest, sometimes on horseback, sometimes on foot, once at the reins of a team driving horses. Every day the grass in the field gets a bit greener. I can't wait until there are leaves on the trees. I've had enough starkness for a long while, I think. Those sharp contrasts of wintertime have ceased to inspire me. The ice has come off the lake, at least. And I thought I saw some tiny new buds on the mayday tree at my parents'.

It is a wonderful gift, being out in the world.

workdays in a new season

For two days, the sun has shone brightly, and warmly, and I have felt restless and trapped behind my desk. Yesterday, I rode a horse and called it work. I'm struggling with having the self-control not to do the same today.

This afternoon, my sister and I took some photos of donations I've received for our silent auction. She climbed a mountain of snow while wearing a donated backpack, rode a bicycle around the office and dismantled a tool kit. I can feel new crowsfeet forming from this concentrated half hour of laughter.

I wish all my days could be like this.

of snowfall and sunshine

Maybe now it's happening. Spring.

It had a few false starts this year. It got my hopes up, and then brought more snow. The shelf of ice that has been creeping over the edge of our roof was growing more terrifying by the day, but yesterday Eric knocked it all down once and for all. Some patches of the road that runs from one end of the ranch to the other are actually clear of snow. Eric and I marvelled in the fact that for the first time in months, there was gravel under our feet.

Springtime brings another set of horse chores. The horses are all shedding their winter coats like crazy. I watch them scratching their bodies on the fence. Our mare seems to be in heat and repeatedly escapes her pen in search of love. Unfortunately the only stud on the property is her own foal from last year. He is under careful lock and key, so there won't be any funny business, but until her heat cycle is over, she has to be kept in a stall in the barn. Which means the stall needs to be mucked out, her water needs to be constantly changed as she loves to fill it with hay, and she needs to be hand-walked so she doesn't go insane. Tomorrow, I'll be catching all 29 of our horses and bringing them in to have the farrier trim their hooves. I'll be giving them dewormer and maybe even their vaccinations, if I have enough time. I'll be brushing them to help them lose their itchy winter coats and sending them back to their pens, ready for the upcoming season of trail rides and summer camps. I don't really have time for any of this, as I actually have three other jobs.

On Friday, my sister and our friend came out, and we rode our usual trail ride loop twice. Sebastian was headstrong and excitable. My sister rode a new horse we just bought last week. He is tall and golden and beautiful, and was just the best gem a horse could be on our ride. When the other two horses were snorting anxiously and trotting sideways at the possibility of a moose in the trees, he remained steadfast and calm, walking out like nothing was wrong. I'm so happy to have him here.

We hosted a big Easter dinner for our family. I made an enormous bone-in ham with farmers' market perogies, pickled beets and fresh buns. My sister brought a salad and Eric's mom brought a sweet and spicy bean dish. There was much wine and beer involved. I love to have them here. Their willingness to visit us out in the country means more to me than they probably know. Without the possibility of visitors, there is a little layer of loneliness over everything out here.

Two weeks ago, Eric and I stood outside our back door in silence, listening to the sound snowflakes make when they hit the ground. Have you ever heard it? Every bird and wild animal had burrowed away for the night. There were no cars or trains or any other vehicle within earshot. There was no wind, no leaves rustling. Just the snow falling onto the ground and our breaths held in our chests to hear the noise it made when it met the earth.

I just need more good days. I need the sunshine to stretch onwards for a few more weeks. I need new grass to begin growing, new buds on the trees. More hopeful days like the ones this weekend, when the sun felt warm on my face and the snow began to recede. And then all will be well.

colourless

Everything today is white or grey. There is frost on everything: every branch and needle in the forest, every eyelash on every horse. It kaleidoscopes into patterns on my truck's windshield and builds up around the fencing wire. In the early morning a fog unravels over the field. It is a blank, white space.

I feel colourless.

Winter goes on forever in the country.

under sea and snow

It's the middle of February. I don't like this month very much. It's when winter starts to really bear down on top of me. And I am desperate to see some green leaves. At work, I daydream of lying in a grassy field. I miss tee-shirts and not having to wear long underwear. I want to sit on my front porch with a coffee and read a book for a while.

Last night was another technology-free night for Eric and I. We do it once a week. It does a person good to unplug for a while. I gave him a haircut for the first time, with mediocre results. We had a picnic of bread, cheese, sausage and olives. We drank a bottle of wine and played Trivial Pursuit. Then we went to bed and I read aloud to him Rachel Carson's essay, "Undersea" from the book of her posthumously discovered writings, Lost Woods. It was too beautiful not to read out loud. 

I've felt lately like making things. Considering art. Remembering sewing. The afghan I started in the fall and never returned to. Building things with wood. Scavenging things to be repurposed, renewed. Eric says there's solid oak from an old church pew lying in a pile of scrap wood in the shop. We've been talking about buying canvasses and paint. He and I could do so many things.

I guess I could start by taking in the Christmas lights in from the porch.

one resolution

Today I rode a horse into the woods. He has not been tacked up since October. He was jittery and tense, strong in my hands and ultra-sensitive to my leg. He has gone a bit wild, this winter, whereas I've gone the opposite. I have drawn into the comforts of my warm home. I haven't been out in the woods on horseback all winter because I am comfortable indoors, and, to be honest, I'm afraid of what I might encounter. Horses don't like to see moose -- first their ears prick in the direction of the animal, before I can even see it. Then they stop completely and stand stalk still, their head up, eyes wide, nostrils flaring, all of the senses trying to determine the exact cause for alarm. Their bodies tense. By the time the moose is visible, they've already decided their instincts were correct, and they usually choose that favourite response of theirs: flight. And I happen to know there's a moose and her calf living somewhere near my house. Plus what sounds in the night like hundreds of coyotes.

Nevertheless: today, my horse and I went into the woods. First we rode out onto the frozen lake. Right to the middle of it, where we stood and looked at the expanse of white running southeast until it blurred into the blue-grey treeline and curved around the bend out of sight. I have never stood in the centre of a frozen lake before. Now I can't imagine why not. Afterwards, we turned back into the forest and followed a trail worn down in the snow by paw prints. I can't be sure it wasn't made that way by our own dogs, but I'm fairly certain this was a well-travelled coyote route, as I often hear them howling from this direction. Eventually it fizzled out, so we had to blaze our own trail through the bare, spindly bushes. We finally emerged into the big field, where we had to wade through three-foot snowdrifts. I am lucky to own a horse so large as Sebastian. I always know he'll make it through.

Afterwards, I was sore. My back, shoulders and arms ache from the effort it takes to hold back an excited horse for an hour's romp through wilderness and countryside. But it felt good. Familiar. I know he will be more manageable each time I ride him. By spring we'll be galloping unconcerned through our back pasture. Down the lane that winds through meadow and forest, all the way to the lake.

For now, this afternoon was just one resolution achieved.

wilderness goals

Today, my dog followed some wild animal -- coyote? rabbit? -- down a bunny trail in the snow. I followed her through the trees past naked aspen and birch, an abandoned osprey nest, a tangle of red-barked bushes, until I found myself standing out on the frozen lake in the bright sunlight. There were no more animal trails out here in the open. Just clean snow. It felt like wandering through the woods into a vast meadow. But I knew there was water under where I stood -- or at least, there had been at some point. The dog was already so far away, bent on catching her prey. I felt quiet, and alone and wonderful.

I have not been out in the wilderness enough. Living in the city, I made a point of it. I'd drive out here, get on my horse, and explore that lakeshore. Discover paths in the woods made by deer, follow them until they turned into nothing but bush. Once, while we galloped through a long field, a red-tailed hawk flew just in front of us. I have never felt like such a free, wild thing.

But now that I'm out here, the woods and the lake and the meadow -- they're all just the backdrop to the mundane ins and outs of my regular life.

It's February, now.

A new goal: get into the wilderness at least once a week.

As for January's goals (complete my four sewing projects, ride a horse, write a poem, buy a calendar), I did do a few of them. I sewed one summer sundress, with much frustration and some swearing and lots of wishing my mom were there. I did not ride a horse, but I did learn to drive a team of them and have, in the last week, driven four sleigh rides. I wrote a poem about a coyote. I bought this calendar.