Snow in Marlborough.
Even in the familiar there can be surprise and wonder.
— Tierney Gearon
The sky is blue, the temperature is just above freezing and the ground is still blanketed in a thick layer of white snow. There are places where the snow is deeper than Waldo is tall. No more snow has fallen, so I plan to go our usual distance in the Hudson no-plow zone. The white shawl that covered the branches of the trees after the last storm is now all gone and the sunlight shines brightly through the trees, nearly unhindered, to the ground unhindered. Birds are out chirruping, but I hear no new species, just my old fine-feathered friends that winter out here.
Waldo has recovered from the anaplasmosis and is now peeing like he used to, so the antibiotics worked. Despite the fact that he had a blood born infection, his behavior never changed, other than the urination – you couldn’t tell he was ill. But dogs are like that. By the time it’s obvious that they’re sick, they’re really sick. I’m just happy that his kidneys were not permanently damaged. After Waldo does a quick leg lift and a squat, with some repositing of what he deposited, we’re on our way.
When we get to the new park, at the Fort Meadow Reservoir overlook, we have passed several people and their dogs and a few joggers. I remember in my younger jogging days, I would go running in 11℉ weather, wearing jersey pants, a hooded jersey jacket over a tee shirt, knitted gloves and little else. I not only was quite comfortable, I was sweating. Some of the joggers we pass are wearing long sleeve tee shirts and shorts! Their legs are bright red from the cold. I cringe at the sight, but they seem not to be troubled by the cold at all. Ah, the resilience of youth… We see no bicycles out today, although I do see their spoor — tire tracks in the snow, here and there. Waldo is much pleased and is not spending that much time glancing to our rear, like he does in biking season.
As we exit the tunnel at the Hudson border and start the plod down the narrow, beaten path in the unplowed snow, we are passed by a jogger. He’s not moving real fast and he doesn’t seem to be slipping and sliding as much as I am. God bless his intrepid perseverance. At least he’s wearing pants and gloves. He does a quick jog off the beaten path to avoid Waldo, who is walking in the middle of it. Waldo ignores him and continues on, doing his Waldo thing. The jogger continues on also, and is soon out of sight.
When we get to where the 3.0 marker should be, I stop and kick at the snow a bit. I can remove the top layers, but the deeper layers are dense and hard to impress. I give up with the commitment to try again another day. If I had a shovel, or even a trowel, I know I could find it, but I don’t. I’m tempted to borrow one from someone, but I don’t know anyone who has one (I did ask around). So we finish our outbound trek and head back to plowed ground.
As I walk along, I have learned to recognize some of the songs of the northern cardinal (a frequent chirper out here) but I often confuse them with a tufted titmouse, or even an American robin. Birds’ vocabularies are varied enough that I find it hard to always associate a particular tweet with a specific tweeter. So I pull out my trusty app when I need to. I hear all three of the birds I just mentioned and house and song sparrows. I even hear a barred owl (which, because I’m new at this, I can confuse with a mourning dove – except when a mourning dove takes off, it makes the distinctive sound of hinges that need to be greased). I wish I could actually see the birds but they, usually, are far off in the tree branches somewhere and my aging eyesight isn’t what it used to be. So I have to be content to look at the pictures in my app.
Before long, Waldo and I are back at the car. Today’s trek is much like so many other walks we’ve been on this winter. But neither Waldo nor I find it boring. Pleasingly familiar, yes. No day is exactly like any other day.
There is always a riff, a variation on a theme, that keeps us engaged and interested.
Meanwhile, in Hudson.