Blog #1

My intention was to blog specifically about the pond at Schenley, but my mental blog really began on the walk to there.  I have been to the pond all the three of the other seasons- first in the Spring, then Summer, then Fall.  It felt very poetically just for me to now be visiting it in the Winter, as well, something which I probably wouldn't have done if not for this blog.  I hold a very passionate, fervent relationship with nature, but I suppose I'm a fickle lover, because my appreciation is often more scarce in the Winter.  Too often I focus negatively on the cold and barren landscape, and already I know the first few weeks of this blog will make me soak in the scenery with the same adoration I do for the fair weather months.

On the way through the woods on the path to the pond, a few things caught my eye.  First was a pair of bright red cardinals.  Their bodies were so glamorous and stark against the mostly grey/brown backdrop of dying trees and leaves. I saw a few more birds along the way, and my reading of Refuge by Terry Tempest Williams has significantly increased my interest in separate species- their bodies, their songs, their habits.  I could identify some finches and chickadees, but there were some I was less familiar with, as well. There was also a small, feeble pine sapling near the opening of the pond that someone had some at some point with a few little blue christmas bulbs and decorated so sweetly.  Not all natural- but an adorable sight nonetheless. It occurred to me then, through this small sign of human contribution, that I would probably be the only person at the pond on this day, in this 20 degree weather. The knowledge of probable solitude and aloneness seemed to open my perspective even more.  I lingered a little longer at a space, I felt more present and more aware of the nature around me without the possibility of people watching.

An important thought I had on the walk to my pond was a final appreciation of barren Winter trees. Normally I completely overlook these leafless forms.  The messy chaos of grey brown branches and bramble, all the same shade at a casual overlook, never appealed to me.  For the first time, I noted how with the leaves gone, you can fully appreciate the form and grace of some beautifully structured trees.  I stopped and stared for a few moments completely up at the canopy.  The elegant shape of long branches bleeding off into smaller; the way sunlight catches sides of them and shadows the other. I realized they are not at all one shade of grey brown, but a beautiful variation on a theme- all the hues and nuances of a black and white photograph.  The shadows and highlights create a depth that can only be seen in the winter, on the leafless branches.

Eventually I made it to the pond. First I had to slide on some ice that covered the path and I made another mental note to wear boots with good traction next time, as well. The first thing I notice is the absence of ducks. In all of my other visits, there were a great grouping of ducks honking and quacking and milling about.  The pond is shaped almost like a lima bean, and I thought next, while walking past the edge to sit in the very middle of the dip in the bean, of the turtles I had seen when I was here in the Fall. So I wondered, aloud, actually, what happens to the turtles when the pond freezes?  Do they hide out in the woods or burrow or make a nest in the willows?  Where do they go?

Sitting on the edge of the concrete lip that surrounds the pond, I took out my pen and notepad to jot my thoughts so far.  The ink in my pen was so cold it came out very thick and light.  My hands immediately turned red and stiff against the air.  I realized I forgotten to bring tissues as my nose started to run.  I made a mental note to bring my best gloves, a pencil, and tissues on my next visit.
After a few minutes, though, as the wind that had been blowing on my walk seemed to die down, I had the delicious feeling that is basking in the sun on a cold day.  With the air stilled, the warmth was direct on my face and I smiled into it, thinking how this is a feeling you can only have in the Winter.  No other appreciation of the sun is quite so rewarding as on a brisk, brisk day.  I mentally chastised myself for not spending enough time outdoors in the Winter, which I chalked up to the preconception I think a lot of society has about Winters only being beautiful in 'beautiful Winter places', such as Aspen, or the Alps, for example.  I hereby mentally resolve to give Winter more appreciation than I have been believing it deserves, wherever I may be.

As I made notes, I could hear the ice shifting and thawing in the sun. Birds tweeted above in the branches and farther away, dry branches scratched against each other like a hiss or whisper or the sound of a zipper, some cars on the bridge to my left and the water rushing from a brook I passed were the sounds I heard around me.  The hair the smell of plain cold- not snow smell, just ice smell.

I turned my attention to the pond.  There were so many surfaces that made up the bean.  Pussy willows along the left edge, and ice stretching out in a C from them.  In the middle, a patch of water that rippled and glinted against the sun, some lines where the water blew in different directions, and a patch of snow on the far right of the bean. The leaves suspended and frozen beneath the ice created the same depth as the trees in the canopy.  Various shades of brown and tan enhanced by the shadows and light made it look endless. In some spaces, the sunlight hit the water and the snow reflection to create a very glacial pale green, and the fungi growing the edges was a matted amber hue.  In the midst of the amber fungi, I found dead fish.  Small, frozen bodies in a brilliance of color- I 'fished' one out to get a better look.  They were so many colors in the sun- silver green yellow gold with a slight purpleish tint in the center and near the gills.  The circular eye with rings and dots and swirls, the fascinating hinge of the gaping mouth when I pulled gently with a finger, the smallest razors on the inside.  My 10 year old self made a mental appearance and wanted to give the extracted fish a burial, but then realized the proper burying site for a fish is the water, so I slid him back through the cold surface. I saw five dead dish total, floating in the water that day, although I couldn't help it, didn't like to keep looking for them. I didn't like to think about the process a living being feels when freezing to death.  I thought momentarily of how it reminded me of Titanic, but it wasn't fair because Titanic was filmed in an Olympic sized hot tub.  They had it easy.

After releasing the fish, I walked to the far edge of the pond where the snow was. There was a something on the surface I wanted to investigate. As I strolled around, happy to have my hands in my warmer pockets, I looked up and took in the deep blueness of the sky, the faint crescent of moon over the bridge.  Looking back to the pond, I saw how the snow seemed reach at the edges, fingers and peaks that longed for the center. I sang while I walked around, thought about the possible outcome if I happened to slip in the edge, walked a little more cautiously. I saw some dead plant life to my right as I approached the snowy side- one I particularly liked had tufts of taupe fuzz on the ends, and under the fuzz lay small daisy-like buds, about the size of a pea, in shades of brown and tan with black centers.  Sometimes death can be just as lovely as life.

The mass on the surface of the ice turned out to just be a log.  I wondered how a log came to be on top of completely frozen ice, instead of half in the ice and half out.  It came to my mind that I should check the time and saw my meter would be up in 7 minutes where I parked, so I hurried past the pond and through the path much quicker than when I came.  When I came to the final set of stairs up to the roads and out of the park, I was happy to see the brilliant Cardinals still flitting about.