For the past week it has been consistently cold and wintry here in the cabin. There is snow on the ground, and I have to walk in from the road; my dirt driveway is now closed off. Snowshoes are not required yet, but snow that has fallen is starting to pile up. I spend some hours outdoors each day, cutting wood and moving things around; but I spend it mostly on my property. I will occasionally climb a mountain or follow a stream in winter, but such expeditions are rare. I don’t drive much either; the combination of elevation changes with poor road conditions make Catskill winter driving unwise. Winter truly does close you in.
People generally presume that winter must be a fairly miserable time in the cabin, but I never find that to be the case. It’s hard to make money here in the winter, and so I am likely to be driven away this year as I have been other winters to make money, but I would not willingly leave. There is something miraculous about being here.
The weather feels more varied than at any other time of the year. Snow changes the appearance of the forest like no other weather event, and the varieties of snow seem endless. Blizzards are vicious and hostile; but other times the snow just floats in the air, barely coming down to the ground, and it is perfectly peaceful. Then there is rain, and fog, and melt; the forest appearing and disappearing in the mist. Moonlight transforms the snow-covered forest yet again. And you see more deeply into the landscape, with the leaves all gone.
At home I have to be even more conscious than before: water is limited and difficult to work with, the toilet requires more work, and I have to work to maintain the cabin’s temperature almost constantly. Going outside requires clothes, and coming back inside involves removing snow from my boots or just removing the boots entirely, and so I generally either stay outside or stay inside, for long periods of time. But the end result is simply that I feel more thoughtful.
And inside one’s brain the experience is amazing. I can go for days without seeing anyone or speaking to anyone – and the result are long, drawn-out, complex trains of thought. I’ve been seeing the entire past year of my life – thinking about Arizona, and love-problems, and the pattern of my dreams through the whole year. People who are far away are present in my thoughts more. If only I can keep it going – I’d rather not have to leave.
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