It’s been hard to start writing this year.  I have asked myself more than once, why would I write anything?  The world is full of words and many wiser than mine.

And yet, I need to remember that it is the words from the woods that I try to represent.  And so here are a few words that come from many walks in the woods this winter.

I started walking through the forest at least 4 or 5 days per week back in the fall.  And not on trails really, just pathways that seemed to make sense. When the snow started falling and I could see the deer tracks, some days I would follow them.  Eventually I noticed that they also followed my tracks.  As long as I was going in the general direction they wanted to go, they would make use of the easier snow depth created by my snowshoes before eventually veering off toward their unknown to me destination.  In this way, we helped each other navigate the tangled brush and sometimes treacherous footing.

Over time, the grouse, or partridge as it is called around here, also appear to be changing their behaviour because of my persistent presence.  Their wing “drumming’ that used to startle me every time is less intense.  They fly up to the trees with less fanfare now when they hear me coming and are allowing me to get closer and closer.  A week ago, I got within six feet of one before it flew away, and a couple of days ago, I almost stepped on one.   People think they are kind of a dumb bird, but when I almost stepped on one without seeing it, it made me wonder what they think of me?

It has been snowing here almost every day for most of the winter.  Since the now well-trodden snowshoe pathways are not really trails, frequently, I have to duck under snow-laden hemlock, spruce, cedar, pine or balsam branches.  When I’m in a bad mood and marching more recklessly than usual through the brush, I swear the trees laugh as they empty their snow loads down the back of my neck.

I know these are just anecdotes of time spent in the forest while society implodes, but I must admit, when I wake up rattled and can’t get my bearings, a couple of hours on snowshoes among the trees, the grouse and the elusive deer, realigns and re-grounds me.   Other land-mates who regularly walk these same snowshoe paths attest to similar experiences.  “It’s magic,” says one.  “Feels like Narnia sometimes.  I’m sure that Mr. Tumnus is going to come along at any moment,” says another.   Whatever it is, and I know in my bones that it is real and true and good, we are part of this place and this place is part of us.

written by Marilyn, January 2026

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