Covered with a thick coat of ice and snow, the stream hurries over the steep drop. Though I cannot see it, I hear the echoing sound of its fall, know that it swelled after the rain the week before. I wonder if two days of above zero temperatures and a splash of rain will be enough to melt the ice that hides it from view.
When I walk the dog around the house, there is an eight-inch step from the shoveled walkway to the uncleared yard. This is solid snow that has been packed down by footsteps and the days of thaw that we have had. Sometimes the dog digs into this layer of snow, gets his nose into the hole, and sniffs. Is he trying to get a whiff of the ground beneath or catching a hint of a vole that passed this way?
This is an area where I planted muscari eighteen months ago. They bloomed well last spring, and I wonder how much they will have spread this year. This thick layer of snow is going to take a while to melt, but eventually, I will find out. The daffodils others planted grow thick every year, but I look forward to finding out how the ones I put in by the road are doing.
In late fall, I mark the edge of the parking area up by the road, showing with yellow stakes where the drop is. I don't shovel the stairs, but do keep a path on the driveway sanded for anyone to get to the house. I also mark the drop around the propane tanks. The way snow piles, there is no visual evidence of where the land falls away.
In the past, I have not marked the drop near the hot tub. I guess I assumed that anyone who used the spa would remember. And even with the snow, it is clear that the maples' roots are ten feet down. Where exactly the edge is cannot be seen, however. Next fall, there will be yellow markers here as well.
My fourteen-month-old puppy likes to carry a stick for the last part of the morning walk. It helps curb his excitement. All fall he found his own along the road and paths. As snow started, I began to save them. We have a collection to choose from: I pick one up at the beginning of the walk and pass it to him when he wants to do more than prance.
On the weekend, the ends of sticks started to appear in the snow banks along the road. Leaves showed up, uncovered by melting snow. The dog had to check out each one. On Sunday, however, the ground was littered with sticks, fine twigs, heavy branches, all newly fallen. The strong wind was not gentle with the trees. I will be keeping my eyes out for hanging branches and leaning trees when I enter the forest next.
Back to things that are hidden. For three days, my husband had odd aches and pains. At first, he seemed to be cold across the shoulders. Then, there was a muscle ache just under his arm; it seemed he strained a muscle. Then a rash appeared. Half way across his back. Deep red across his upper chest and under his arm. We made an immediate trip to emerg. Shingles. It seems that shingles had been busy under the skin, creating discomfort, before the rash was revealed.
Some news programs have had detailed discussions about how hard it is to freeze the assets of wealthy Russians. You have to find them first. They are hidden in numbered companies that hold numbered companies that hold assets with no name attached. Somewhere the ownership of the numbered companies exists, but searching through thousands is an almost impossible task. Some kinds of money transfers have been stopped, but getting at the wealth of those who support the invasion of Ukraine is difficult. I had hoped that as the Russian economy faltered, the wealthy would put pressure on to cease this invasion. Instead, it is the ordinary people who are struggling.
Walking in this late winter wonderland, I find what I cannot see intriguing. Walking through this difficult time in our world, what is hidden is disturbing.
Cathy Hird lives on the traditional territory of the Saugeen Ojibway Nation
