This morning was quintessential Maine winter weather. Cold, blue sky, still. I can't walk on these mornings without thinking of Robert Frost, though these are not the roads not taken. They are paths taken, made all the icier because of the feet that have packed them down, followed by the sun melting and re-freezing at night. Crampons, once again, are my friend.
But not my best friend. Jasper is the reason I'm on these trails before anyone else thinks of getting out and hiking. It is such a gift.
One of the most wonderful things about hiking alone with a wolf is that thoughts just wash over you. Thoughts you might not take time to think under any other circumstance. Or be inspired to think them. . .
This morning I was thinking about how fundamental. . .how natural. . it seems to be walking with my wolf in the snow. I know I know. He's a dog, but he does look a little wolfish, doesn't he? Coloring not withstanding.
I was thinking of all of the other people who walked through these Maine woods with their dog/wolf. Men or women who predate the arrival of white people. They walked in the woods to hunt, gather, teach their children the ways of woods and their creatures. Maybe they walked through the woods to see a family member in another tribe. . to trade gossip. . to complain about their husband ("He never puts anything away. . ."), to alert them to some danger. Did they take pleasure in these woods? Or was it a chore ("Damn. I wish I had a horse. . ")
I learned recently that Maine is the most forested state in the United States. An estimated 90% is forested. And northern Maine, where few people live, has 12 million acres of forest. No wonder this state has attracted me.
I am, however, starting to lean toward spring. With my 70th birthday pending, I can't help but wonder how many more springs there will be for me. That's not a woe-is-me statement. Just an objective thought. It might make me further appreciate the remaining springs. And walks in the snowy woods.
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