Cabin Fever

Spring, my friend, you fooled me.  I thought you were edging nearer to me....even though I suppose I knew better, in the part of my brain that I rarely listen to.  The snow was melting at the base of the trees, each day the perimeter of exposed earth grew a little bit more.  The tips of the branches almost seemed to be looking up to the warming sun as if to say, 'is that you, spring?' It was not.  The 30" of snow this week made that abundantly clear. Not spring.  The trees' branches bent under the snow and they seemed even more drab looking than before.  I wondered if their hearts sank the way mine did.

So we all continued to hunker down, keep settled into our winter hibernation, doldrums, cups of tea and solitude.  I forgot about winter up here.  I mean, I remember winter here, but not really.  I remember the snowmen and the ski days and the cold faces but warm insides, and how it might have dragged on a little long at the end but it wasn't a big deal.  I was a kid, so I don't remember how everyone keeps their heads down and kind of freezes up with the weather, I don't remember having to shovel out the driveway at 10pm so that I could get out to go to work at 5am, I don't remember feeling trapped in my own house because I wasn't.  I don't remember winter coming with much grim or glum at all, but I suppose that not surprising, kids are much smarter than adults.

But back to present day.  I had a rare afternoon with just myself and the dogs the other day, after the first storm and I needed to get them out of the house so we went for a hike just near by.  As I stepped out of my car (in the empty parking lot) I looked out at the field where the trail wound up through the hill; the snow was falling just as it does inside of a snow globe, the trees were beautifully decorated with glimmering pockets of snow and there was simple and perfect silence in every direction.  I had to laugh at myself, because it was as if the trees were speaking to me, answering my question.

       
      'We are fine my dear, in fact we are built for exactly this.  Our branches may bend but our roots dig deep and our trunks stand tall.  Our bark may be cold and rigid but our saps are flowing freely now and inside we are alive as ever.  This is not an injustice that has been pushed upon us, after all, its just winter, my dear.  You could stand to do a little standing tall yourself.  You have let your insides freeze up with your outsides, and every tree and child knows that that's just a waste of a perfectly good winter day.  Do you think its just a coincidence that in the winter when you need a bit more coaxing to get out and explore, that you can see your very footprints in the snow?  Winter's way of showing you what you have done, how far you've gone.  So stop worrying about us trees, my dear, and go make some footprints.  You'll feel better and you might just start to melt those insides back into the living breathing soul that you are.'

And let me tell you, those trees (or the words I imagined they were saying to me) were damn right!  It turns out that if you just keep chuggin up here, you might just be ok.  John and I had a date night the other night and we went to the nearby town of Hallowell.  As an aside, Hallowell I think, will be my lifeline out here in my new home of 1,100 people.  It has all of the charm and bustle of any of my favorite liberal, yuppie neighborhoods in Denver, boasting a good many eateries, a bakery (and I'm talking a GOOD bakery, which is saying something if you know anything about my very solid relationship with high quality baked goods), and even a quilting shop!  So John and I set out for a night in Hallowell.  It was about 6 pm, which meant that it was already freezing and had been dark for a good two hours.  We pulled into town and parked the car after having to drive around for a few minutes to find a spot, which I thought was weird.  We got out of the car and walked down the road toward said eateries, and it was quiet.  I mean the kind of quiet where all you hear is the clang of the flagpole and you can almost hear the 'Closed' signs on the doors.  We had already decided on the brewery for dinner, so we walked on. We opened the creaky door and in we stepped with a gust of cold air and John and I just stared at each other.  The whole place was packed.  Not with lonely people wearing gray and drinking alone, but with happy, laughing, normally dressed people! And some of them were even under 40!  Where did you all come from??  This place actually felt alive!  There was music and beer and food and fun lighting and a hipster menu written in chalk on the wall, ah all the things that make my heart sing!  Once we were settled into our window bar seats (because all the other seats had real live people already sitting in them), we looked out the windows and realized that every place in town that was open was packed just like this one.  So these are all the salty people of the north that have been listening to those trees!

Now granted, next winter I think, will be much easier.  I hope.  John will be settled into his job, I will be settled into...something.  And we wont be moving back and forth between two houses a couple of times a week like we are right now.  Oh and hopefully we will have a friend, just one would be nice.  That will all help to keep the insides thawed a bit but for now I'm holding tight to the lessons from my tree friends and feeling excited that there is life happening in a place nearby.