In places, the snow is as deep as Waldo is tall.
Forever is composed of nows.
-Emily Dickinson
The city of Marlborough has now plowed up to the tunnel under Route 85, the border with Hudson. Not only that, but it’s been widened to reveal all the markers up to 2.0. The temperature is in the low to mid 30s, so not much of the rest of the snow is gone, although it has settled a bit. Still, there are places where the sides carved out by the plow are deeper than Waldo is tall. The walking is easy, although there are places where there is still a thin sheet of hardpacked snow. Waldo is doing his business on the plowed part because elsewhere is so deep he can’t hunch over enough to poop without getting an uncomfortable freeze in a tender place.
In the no-plow zone of Hudson, there is a narrow meandering path beaten down by snowshoers, cross-country skiers and a few walkers more intrepid than we are. It’s only wide enough for a single person to trek and the footing is uneven. That makes the going a bit like walking in sand at the beach. Waldo sticks to the beaten path, but otherwise seems unaffected by its squishy, slippery nature. I decide it’s not too much work to go the ¾-mile to our usual turn around point and commit to going the whole way.
We get to the spot where I know the 2.5-mile marker is and I start kicking at the snow. It’s not easy, but the snow isn’t so deep I can’t dig a hole down to it. When I’m done, the marker is in the bottom of a circular hole centered perfectly around the number 2.5. While I’m doing that, Waldo makes snow-doggies just a couple of feet away. I’m a little surprised he doesn’t come over and try to help me, or even take a cue and start digging his own hole, but he seems more than content to roll over on his back and squirm around. The only time I’ve seen him dig is when he’s in a fenced in area and he comes to a corner. Why that particular spot is so enticing to dig, I can’t fathom. But, then, he probably thinks the same thing about where I choose to dig and he’s got a point.
We continue on to where the 3.0 marker should be. The snow is pretty deep there and firmly attached to the ground, so I don’t make much progress trying to find it. Ah well, I just may have to wait for the spring thaw.
Now, it may seem be a little ridiculous to spend so much effort and attention trying to find something buried in the snow, but it’s kind of liberating. To be able to do something silly, on a whim, and give myself permission to indulge, is a freedom I seldom exercised while I was working. I was just too busy. Whims occur in the moment and to give into them is to embrace the moment. Waldo understands, I’m sure.
My memories of childhood are filled with such playful moments. What else does a child have to fill his time with? To skip flat rocks off a still pond, to pick up stray rocks, looking for the prettiest, to trap a frog in the hand to be able to examine it closely, this was how I idled my time away when I was young. The gift of being able to just let one moment blend into the next without trying to box it in and direct the flow, that’s real freedom. It feels good to be in a place where I can do that once again. It gives a different slant to the idea of a second childhood.
We turn around at our usual spot and head for the car. About halfway to the Hudson/Marlborough line, we pass a guy carrying his bicycle. He’s the same one who we’ve seen riding in the snow in the past. But he isn’t riding it now. The snow is too deep and the going is just too slippery. He says he lives in Hudson and carries his bike to Marlborough, where the path is plowed. He’s on his way home when we pass him. I would guess that what motivates him is not some irrepressible burning desire to get out and ride his bike, despite the snow. From what little I know about him, through casual conversation in passing, I think he indulges himself with the joy of rolling through nature, including the snow, and going with the flow. It’s not that different from the allure that draws me and Waldo.
By the time we get back to the tunnel and plowed ground, I’m sweaty, tired and some not-very-often-used muscles in my legs are a little achy. The flat, stable ground, with no slipping or sliding, fills me with relief. We pick up the pace and are soon back at the car. I turn to Waldo as I get in and say, “Well, Waldo, another day, another 6 miles.”
He curls up on the passenger seat and puts his head on his paws.
In Hudson, it’s walkable.