Walk Journals: The Winter Walks

Making Tracks ...

Not so many walks this winter--weather and road conditions have been less than cooperative.  I've lost track of the number of snowstorms we've had but we've used six snowdays at school this year so there's six right there.  We stayed open during a couple snowy days and there was at least one snowy weekend.  I've had to content myself with shoveling for my workouts.  As it turns out, shoveling is counted as an activity in my Weight Watchers app (10 minutes of shoveling equals 1 point) so the hours spent clearing away light fluffy flakes, water-laden slush and shards of ice have counted for something (besides aching muscles).

But ... a few days were above 22 degrees (my bottom threshold for spending a couple hours outside) or were dry enough or had a brilliant sun that lured me out to see what my world had to offer.  

And there was plenty to see and admire and wonder about.  The Rockaway River was spectacular locked in ice in January.  With many consecutive days failing to reach over ten degrees, she had frozen in several places from shore to shore, pushing ice over the banks and encasing everything in her path in a glassy coating.  The January sunsets cast an orange and pink glow in the winter sky that failed to warm despite the flushed hues.  But they do bear the promise of warmer times to come.  These days before the huge snows were such a gift.  The paths in the parks were still passable and sidewalks were clear.



 There were a couple of nice days that allowed for walking across the highway to Indian Lake. 

It's always been amazing to me how the days really do grow longer after December 21.  I mean, I know they do but in the depths of winter, it sometimes feels like it's never going to get light again.  But every minute of light counts and the slightly longer daylit days of January also speak of the promise of spring--and allow for longer walks making visiting the lake a real possibility.  Once upon a time, there was a New Year's Day skating party on this lake (we lived a block from the little beach at the time).  The lake was frozen clear across and the day was brilliant.  I remember we skated limbo-fashion under this bridge, the entrance to Lenape Island, a tiny miniature island with maybe a dozen homes where I'd dearly love to live.  We skated for hours and hours that day.  It's one of my fondest memories of our little cottage by the lake.

Where the water from Indian Lake spills over a little dam into a lagoon, the water wasn't frozen.  These swans were captivating.  This is the first time I've seen swans in the dead of winter.  We have several different pairs that stop by in October for a few weeks on their route to their winter homes in the south and then return for a few weeks, usually in March, on their way north again.  Perhaps I've never been in the right place or maybe this is the first time a few stuck around for a New Jersey winter.

This sign has been on Franklin Road near the little beach bridge for quite a while now.  Whatever road work the town has been doing here seems to be stalled and I can't help but thinking that is a metaphor for this winter.  With all the snow and ice, there've been no end to the bumps and slow going.  Or maybe it's a metaphor for those rough, icy patches in life.  Some of the winter walks have been like that ... 

Slip sliding ...

and it's all night.*

We all have our bumps in the road and icy patches that cause us to slip and slide.  This is why I love these walks so much:  they often cause me to reflect on the evident connections that are to be made between the walking and the living, between the sights I see and the memories they trigger, between the ups and downs, the rough and the smooth going--it's obvious, I know, but that whole "journey" idea has been bubbling close to the surface the last year or two.

Before the snow got too deep, walks to the pond were possible too.  Lately, even the sidewalks that far up the road have been impassable but a few weeks ago, if I set out early enough I could make it up that far before sunset.  The pond seems so plain in this state ... no sturdy lily pads, no waving grasses, no ducks, geese, dragonflies or frogs jumping out of the danger of my footfalls.  But there is a sort of forlorn beauty in the starkness of the bare trees, the dark reflections and the encroaching ice.  

I keep thinking I need some new places to walk.  I've walked these roads and paths so often, photographed the river, the lake, the pond from almost every angle and in all types of light.  But the truth is, I love these places and visiting them in every season, in all types of weather, on sunny days and dreary ones--it all recharges me.  They're my places and are important parts of that more recent journey of the past couple of years.  I will find some new places to walk but these local spots--they'll always be my favorites.

~~~

*if you've read these pages before, you'd have guessed this is a Gavin DeGraw lyric and you'd be right:  Leading Man

Winter playlist, eclectic sampling:

Hot Chelle Rae - Don't Say Goodnight
Pharrell Williams - Happy (or if you have 24 hours to spare ... 24 hours of Happy,) 
Joey DeGraw - Miracle of the Mind