Frozen Deerwood - Books & Writing Bulletin Board UBBFriend: Email This Page to Someone! Books & Writing Bulletin Board Writers' Showcase Frozen Deerwood profile | register | prefs | faq | search | cookies next newest topic | next oldest topic Author Topic: Frozen Deerwood PP Member #22616, posted 01-31-00 02:12 PM WE ARE TALKING A 'ROUND AND 'ROUND POST AGAIN - - -I'M SORRY BUT WISH We are talking fifteen and more degrees and no whipping winD. I’ve been stuck in the house for seemingly endless days on end with nor fresh air other than walking the mutts, and the little paws can not take too much. The sun is an opalescent gray “could be”, shoot, I’m going, no household chores or Superbowl yet this morning.Outside the chill is nothing more than a facial stimulant in the worn L.L.Bean Thinsulate MountainParka, I do not pull the waist strings, nor velcro the wrists, nor pull down the face hole. I wear the little $.98 blaze orange light knit cap knowing I will c get hot and drop the hood when I start at Deerwood. Once and a while the sun casts hard shadows through the lead layerings of overcast, as I walk a hlf mile to the park. Stick, stick, stick that’s all I think of, other than wondering of the footing on the ridge ascents. A Stick is not something you get at the sporting goods store. I do not go more than a few feet up the path to a windrow, and there she is. Too long by a foot or so, but I see the end is in rot so I snap off the rot, snap down to the good solid. The path has been walked by dozens since the snowfall and the footing is fine and when my feet side-slip every so slightly the stick reassures me. It is a trudging effort and very unathletic. My butt in general was stiff until I started the walk and swung the legs a bit going to the park. I have reservations as to the trudging effort up the snowpack path with a stick, that is, is this beneficial for the sacarilliac in general and the lunbar region and hip joints? I forget those worries and trudge, trudge, trudge up the footprinted but snowpacked path. I hear the silence through the hood and whip noises wipe the hood, that’s an errant twig or two. No challenges of an athletic nature on the ascent really. I whack some windrows and hear no little critters run off, they are sleeping in too or hiding as I crunch the snow, or they took off running. I notice all sorts of tracks,I see a large dragging sort of thing, a coon must have scored something. Big black squirrel nests in the trees. Dog poop, dog tracks.Lots of squirrel tracks. The stick is nice on off camber stretches, really balances me out as I side slip. After awhile it seems stupid to carry the thing on the top of the ridge where it is easy going, but I know what is ahead. My stick is nice and sturdy and as I go along I work the old eye-hand coordination and focus on dried twigs on the siding trees and bushes and swipe them off with the stick. I am on to the right, even extended arm and catch up the stick for following swipes. I try extendended left arm swipes and miss by an inch or so until I repeat the move, there is the inaccuracy to work. I get to an ancient birch I know and I wonder. About that Birch the kids built a lean-to with sticks. Most of one half of the birch is there and it is magnificently mottled of bark and fungus and huge, long living braches, three or four, still grow to the sky. Beautiful natural specimen. I get to the half way fork and think of the undesignated draw after the steep down hill. The down hill is in two parts, the first a peice of cake as the snow forms ridges behind your heal and form impromptu wedege-steps, a granny could do this. The second phase is different. The slope is such that the snow is inclined to not stick on the slope and bare dirt shows through. Some kids went half way up and sledded down, I see. Stick time now. I try one handed as usual and feel a great deal of slipping, and gravity is a threatening force. I’d rather fall on my face climbing than bounce unexpectedly on my hip. Now I do the “cripple” and put the stick in front of me holding it with both hands, better safe than sorry. I get to the undesignated draw that short pants summer walkers would abjure, with all the tickly and eventually abrasive weed growth. No human signs, but a high traffic lane just the same. Here the deer signs are profuse and easy to see in the less trafficked snow. I look for the spot I flushed some turkey, by a large clump of mature cedar. Those cedar are as pretty as the old birch. No turkey, just lots of dried wild flowers all around. I like my stick this time, thin yet sturdy. Out near the mouth of the path I see a thicker stick and customize it and file it for some reason. That’s dumb as there is not a stick shortage. I prop the stick by the one designated entry and put the old one by the other, or was that vice versa? Don’t matter, I am not going to the sporting goods store to buy one then, am I. Walking home I feel inclined to walk the field in untrampled snow and the six inches or so feels like silk on the insteps of my feet and ankles as I regain a flat land gait. Feels so good. I pull up the hood again going home as the less than gale force breeze feels so cool after the still warmness of the woods. We are talking fifteen and more degrees and no whipping wind. ............................................................................................................................................ .......................................................I’ve been stuck in the house for seemingly endless days on end with nor fresh air other than walking the mutts, and the little paws can not take too much. The sun is an opalescent gray “could be”, shoot, I’m going, no household chores or Superbowl yet this morning.Outside the chill is nothing more than a facial stimulant in the worn L.L.Bean Thinsulate MountainParka, I do not pull the waist strings, nor velcro the wrists, nor pull down the face hole. I wear the little $.98 blaze orange light knit cap knowing I will c get hot and drop the hood when I start at Deerwood. Once and a while the sun casts hard shadows through the lead layerings of overcast, as I walk a hlf mile to the park. Stick, stick, stick that’s all I think of, other than wondering of the footing on the ridge ascents. A Stick is not something you get at the sporting goods store. I do not go more than a few feet up the path to a windrow, and there she is. Too long by a foot or so, but I see the end is in rot so I snap off the rot, snap down to the good solid. The path has been walked by dozens since the snowfall and the footing is fine and when my feet side-slip every so slightly the stick reassures me. It is a trudging effort and very unathletic. My butt in general was stiff until I started the walk and swung the legs a bit going to the park. I have reservations as to the trudging effort up the snowpack path with a stick, that is, is this beneficial for the sacarilliac in general and the lunbar region and hip joints? I forget those worries and trudge, trudge, trudge up the footprinted but snowpacked path. I hear the silence through the hood and whip noises wipe the hood, that’s an errant twig or two. No challenges of an athletic nature on the ascent really. I whack some windrows and hear no little critters run off, they are sleeping in too or hiding as I crunch the snow, or they took off running. I notice all sorts of tracks,I see a large dragging sort of thing, a coon must have scored something. Big black squirrel nests in the trees. Dog poop, dog tracks.Lots of squirrel tracks. The stick is nice on off camber stretches, really balances me out as I side slip. After awhile it seems stupid to carry the thing on the top of the ridge where it is easy going, but I know what is ahead. My stick is nice and sturdy and as I go along I work the old eye-hand coordination and focus on dried twigs on the siding trees and bushes and swipe them off with the stick. I am on to the right, even extended arm and catch up the stick for following swipes. I try extendended left arm swipes and miss by an inch or so until I repeat the move, there is the inaccuracy to work. I get to an ancient birch I know and I wonder. About that Birch the kids built a lean-to with sticks. Most of one half of the birch is there and it is magnificently mottled of bark and fungus and huge, long living braches, three or four, still grow to the sky. Beautiful natural specimen. I get to the half way fork and think of the undesignated draw after the steep down hill. The down hill is in two parts, the first a peice of cake as the snow forms ridges behind your heal and form impromptu wedege-steps, a granny could do this. The second phase is different. The slope is such that the snow is inclined to not stick on the slope and bare dirt shows through. Some kids went half way up and sledded down, I see. Stick time now. I try one handed as usual and feel a great deal of slipping, and gravity is a threatening force. I’d rather fall on my face climbing than bounce unexpectedly on my hip. Now I do the “cripple” and put the stick in front of me holding it with both hands, better safe than sorry. I get to the undesignated draw that short pants summer walkers would abjure, with all the tickly and eventually abrasive weed growth. No human signs, but a high traffic lane just the same. Here the deer signs are profuse and easy to see in the less trafficked snow. I look for the spot I flushed some turkey, by a large clump of mature cedar. Those cedar are as pretty as the old birch. No turkey, just lots of dried wild flowers all around. I like my stick this time, thin yet sturdy. Out near the mouth of the path I see a thicker stick and customize it and file it for some reason. That’s dumb as there is not a stick shortage. I prop the stick by the one designated entry and put the old one by the other, or was that vice versa? Don’t matter, I am not going to the sporting goods store to buy one then, am I. Walking home I feel inclined to walk the field in untrampled snow and the six inches or so feels like silk on the insteps of my feet and ankles as I regain a flat land gait. Feels so good. I pull up the hood again going home as the less than gale force breeze feels so cool after the still warmness of the woods. We are talking fifteen and more degrees and no whipping wing. I’ve been stuck in the house for seemingly endless days on end with nor fresh air other than walking the mutts, and the little paws can not take too much. The sun is an opalescent gray “could be”, shoot, I’m going, no household chores or Superbowl yet this morning.Outside the chill is nothing more than a facial stimulant in the worn L.L.Bean Thinsulate MountainParka, I do not pull the waist strings, nor velcro the wrists, nor pull down the face hole. I wear the little $.98 blaze orange light knit cap knowing I will c get hot and drop the hood when I start at Deerwood. Once and a while the sun casts hard shadows through the lead layerings of overcast, as I walk a hlf mile to the park. Stick, stick, stick that’s all I think of, other than wondering of the footing on the ridge ascents. A Stick is not something you get at the sporting goods store. I do not go more than a few feet up the path to a windrow, and there she is. Too long by a foot or so, but I see the end is in rot so I snap off the rot, snap down to the good solid. The path has been walked by dozens since the snowfall and the footing is fine and when my feet side-slip every so slightly the stick reassures me. It is a trudging effort and very unathletic. My butt in general was stiff until I started the walk and swung the legs a bit going to the park. I have reservations as to the trudging effort up the snowpack path with a stick, that is, is this beneficial for the sacarilliac in general and the lunbar region and hip joints? I forget those worries and trudge, trudge, trudge up the footprinted but snowpacked path. I hear the silence through the hood and whip noises wipe the hood, that’s an errant twig or two. No challenges of an athletic nature on the ascent really. I whack some windrows and hear no little critters run off, they are sleeping in too or hiding as I crunch the snow, or they took off running. I notice all sorts of tracks,I see a large dragging sort of thing, a coon must have scored something. Big black squirrel nests in the trees. Dog poop, dog tracks.Lots of squirrel tracks. The stick is nice on off camber stretches, really balances me out as I side slip. After awhile it seems stupid to carry the thing on the top of the ridge where it is easy going, but I know what is ahead. My stick is nice and sturdy and as I go along I work the old eye-hand coordination and focus on dried twigs on the siding trees and bushes and swipe them off with the stick. I am on to the right, even extended arm and catch up the stick for following swipes. I try extendended left arm swipes and miss by an inch or so until I repeat the move, there is the inaccuracy to work. I get to an ancient birch I know and I wonder. About that Birch the kids built a lean-to with sticks. Most of one half of the birch is there and it is magnificently mottled of bark and fungus and huge, long living braches, three or four, still grow to the sky. Beautiful natural specimen. I get to the half way fork and think of the undesignated draw after the steep down hill. The down hill is in two parts, the first a peice of cake as the snow forms ridges behind your heal and form impromptu wedege-steps, a granny could do this. The second phase is different. The slope is such that the snow is inclined to not stick on the slope and bare dirt shows through. Some kids went half way up and sledded down, I see. Stick time now. I try one handed as usual and feel a great deal of slipping, and gravity is a threatening force. I’d rather fall on my face climbing than bounce unexpectedly on my hip. Now I do the “cripple” and put the stick in front of me holding it with both hands, better safe than sorry. I get to the undesignated draw that short pants summer walkers would abjure, with all the tickly and eventually abrasive weed growth. No human signs, but a high traffic lane just the same. Here the deer signs are profuse and easy to see in the less trafficked snow. I look for the spot I flushed some turkey, by a large clump of mature cedar. Those cedar are as pretty as the old birch. No turkey, just lots of dried wild flowers all around. I like my stick this time, thin yet sturdy. Out near the mouth of the path I see a thicker stick and customize it and file it for some reason. That’s dumb as there is not a stick shortage. I prop the stick by the one designated entry and put the old one by the other, or was that vice versa? Don’t matter, I am not going to the sporting goods store to buy one then, am I. Walking home I feel inclined to walk the field in untrampled snow and the six inches or so feels like silk on the insteps of my feet and ankles as I regain a flat land gait. Feels so good. I pull up the hood again going home as the less than gale force breeze feels so cool after the still warmness of the woods. We are talking fifteen and more degrees and no whipping wing. I’ve been stuck in the house for seemingly endless days on end with nor fresh air other than walking the mutts, and the little paws can not take too much. The sun is an opalescent gray “could be”, shoot, I’m going, no household chores or Superbowl yet this morning.Outside the chill is nothing more than a facial stimulant in the worn L.L.Bean Thinsulate MountainParka, I do not pull the waist strings, nor velcro the wrists, nor pull down the face hole. I wear the little $.98 blaze orange light knit cap knowing I will c get hot and drop the hood when I start at Deerwood. Once and a while the sun casts hard shadows through the lead layerings of overcast, as I walk a hlf mile to the park. Stick, stick, stick that’s all I think of, other than wondering of the footing on the ridge ascents. A Stick is not something you get at the sporting goods store. I do not go more than a few feet up the path to a windrow, and there she is. Too long by a foot or so, but I see the end is in rot so I snap off the rot, snap down to the good solid. The path has been walked by dozens since the snowfall and the footing is fine and when my feet side-slip every so slightly the stick reassures me. It is a trudging effort and very unathletic. My butt in general was stiff until I started the walk and swung the legs a bit going to the park. I have reservations as to the trudging effort up the snowpack path with a stick, that is, is this beneficial for the sacarilliac in general and the lunbar region and hip joints? I forget those worries and trudge, trudge, trudge up the footprinted but snowpacked path. I hear the silence through the hood and whip noises wipe the hood, that’s an errant twig or two. No challenges of an athletic nature on the ascent really. I whack some windrows and hear no little critters run off, they are sleeping in too or hiding as I crunch the snow, or they took off running. I notice all sorts of tracks,I see a large dragging sort of thing, a coon must have scored something. Big black squirrel nests in the trees. Dog poop, dog tracks.Lots of squirrel tracks. The stick is nice on off camber stretches, really balances me out as I side slip. After awhile it seems stupid to carry the thing on the top of the ridge where it is easy going, but I know what is ahead. My stick is nice and sturdy and as I go along I work the old eye-hand coordination and focus on dried twigs on the siding trees and bushes and swipe them off with the stick. I am on to the right, even extended arm and catch up the stick for following swipes. I try extendended left arm swipes and miss by an inch or so until I repeat the move, there is the inaccuracy to work. I get to an ancient birch I know and I wonder. About that Birch the kids built a lean-to with sticks. Most of one half of the birch is there and it is magnificently mottled of bark and fungus and huge, long living braches, three or four, still grow to the sky. Beautiful natural specimen. I get to the half way fork and think of the undesignated draw after the steep down hill. The down hill is in two parts, the first a peice of cake as the snow forms ridges behind your heal and form impromptu wedege-steps, a granny could do this. The second phase is different. The slope is such that the snow is inclined to not stick on the slope and bare dirt shows through. Some kids went half way up and sledded down, I see. Stick time now. I try one handed as usual and feel a great deal of slipping, and gravity is a threatening force. I’d rather fall on my face climbing than bounce unexpectedly on my hip. Now I do the “cripple” and put the stick in front of me holding it with both hands, better safe than sorry. I get to the undesignated draw that short pants summer walkers would abjure, with all the tickly and eventually abrasive weed growth. No human signs, but a high traffic lane just the same. Here the deer signs are profuse and easy to see in the less trafficked snow. I look for the spot I flushed some turkey, by a large clump of mature cedar. Those cedar are as pretty as the old birch. No turkey, just lots of dried wild flowers all around. I like my stick this time, thin yet sturdy. Out near the mouth of the path I see a thicker stick and customize it and file it for some reason. That’s dumb as there is not a stick shortage. I prop the stick by the one designated entry and put the old one by the other, or was that vice versa? Don’t matter, I am not going to the sporting goods store to buy one then, am I. Walking home I feel inclined to walk the field in untrampled snow and the six inches or so feels like silk on the insteps of my feet and ankles as I regain a flat land gait. Feels so good. I pull up the hood again going home as the less than gale force breeze feels so cool after the still warmness of the woods. We are talking fifteen and more degrees and no whipping wing. I’ve been stuck in the house for seemingly endless days on end with nor fresh air other than walking the mutts, and the little paws can not take too much. The sun is an opalescent gray “could be”, shoot, I’m going, no household chores or Superbowl yet this morning.Outside the chill is nothing more than a facial stimulant in the worn L.L.Bean Thinsulate MountainParka, I do not pull the waist strings, nor velcro the wrists, nor pull down the face hole. I wear the little $.98 blaze orange light knit cap knowing I will c get hot and drop the hood when I start at Deerwood. Once and a while the sun casts hard shadows through the lead layerings of overcast, as I walk a hlf mile to the park. Stick, stick, stick that’s all I think of, other than wondering of the footing on the ridge ascents. A Stick is not something you get at the sporting goods store. I do not go more than a few feet up the path to a windrow, and there she is. Too long by a foot or so, but I see the end is in rot so I snap off the rot, snap down to the good solid. The path has been walked by dozens since the snowfall and the footing is fine and when my feet side-slip every so slightly the stick reassures me. It is a trudging effort and very unathletic. My butt in general was stiff until I started the walk and swung the legs a bit going to the park. I have reservations as to the trudging effort up the snowpack path with a stick, that is, is this beneficial for the sacarilliac in general and the lunbar region and hip joints? I forget those worries and trudge, trudge, trudge up the footprinted but snowpacked path. I hear the silence through the hood and whip noises wipe the hood, that’s an errant twig or two. No challenges of an athletic nature on the ascent really. I whack some windrows and hear no little critters run off, they are sleeping in too or hiding as I crunch the snow, or they took off running. I notice all sorts of tracks,I see a large dragging sort of thing, a coon must have scored something. Big black squirrel nests in the trees. Dog poop, dog tracks.Lots of squirrel tracks. The stick is nice on off camber stretches, really balances me out as I side slip. After awhile it seems stupid to carry the thing on the top of the ridge where it is easy going, but I know what is ahead. My stick is nice and sturdy and as I go along I work the old eye-hand coordination and focus on dried twigs on the siding trees and bushes and swipe them off with the stick. I am on to the right, even extended arm and catch up the stick for following swipes. I try extendended left arm swipes and miss by an inch or so until I repeat the move, there is the inaccuracy to work. I get to an ancient birch I know and I wonder. About that Birch the kids built a lean-to with sticks. Most of one half of the birch is there and it is magnificently mottled of bark and fungus and huge, long living braches, three or four, still grow to the sky. Beautiful natural specimen. I get to the half way fork and think of the undesignated draw after the steep down hill. The down hill is in two parts, the first a peice of cake as the snow forms ridges behind your heal and form impromptu wedege-steps, a granny could do this. The second phase is different. The slope is such that the snow is inclined to not stick on the slope and bare dirt shows through. Some kids went half way up and sledded down, I see. Stick time now. I try one handed as usual and feel a great deal of slipping, and gravity is a threatening force. I’d rather fall on my face climbing than bounce unexpectedly on my hip. Now I do the “cripple” and put the stick in front of me holding it with both hands, better safe than sorry. I get to the undesignated draw that short pants summer walkers would abjure, with all the tickly and eventually abrasive weed growth. No human signs, but a high traffic lane just the same. Here the deer signs are profuse and easy to see in the less trafficked snow. I look for the spot I flushed some turkey, by a large clump of mature cedar. Those cedar are as pretty as the old birch. No turkey, just lots of dried wild flowers all around. I like my stick this time, thin yet sturdy. Out near the mouth of the path I see a thicker stick and customize it and file it for some reason. That’s dumb as there is not a stick shortage. I prop the stick by the one designated entry and put the old one by the other, or was that vice versa? Don’t matter, I am not going to the sporting goods store to buy one then, am I. Walking home I feel inclined to walk the field in untrampled snow and the six inches or so feels like silk on the insteps of my feet and ankles as I regain a flat land gait. Feels so good. I pull up the hood again going home as the less than gale force breeze feels so cool after the still warmness of the woods. We are talking fifteen and more degrees and no whipping wing. I’ve been stuck in the house for seemingly endless days on end with nor fresh air other than walking the mutts, and the little paws can not take too much. The sun is an opalescent gray “could be”, shoot, I’m going, no household chores or Superbowl yet this morning.Outside the chill is nothing more than a facial stimulant in the worn L.L.Bean Thinsulate MountainParka, I do not pull the waist strings, nor velcro the wrists, nor pull down the face hole. I wear the little $.98 blaze orange light knit cap knowing I will c get hot and drop the hood when I start at Deerwood. Once and a while the sun casts hard shadows through the lead layerings of overcast, as I walk a hlf mile to the park. Stick, stick, stick that’s all I think of, other than wondering of the footing on the ridge ascents. A Stick is not something you get at the sporting goods store. I do not go more than a few feet up the path to a windrow, and there she is. Too long by a foot or so, but I see the end is in rot so I snap off the rot, snap down to the good solid. The path has been walked by dozens since the snowfall and the footing is fine and when my feet side-slip every so slightly the stick reassures me. It is a trudging effort and very unathletic. My butt in general was stiff until I started the walk and swung the legs a bit going to the park. I have reservations as to the trudging effort up the snowpack path with a stick, that is, is this beneficial for the sacarilliac in general and the lunbar region and hip joints? I forget those worries and trudge, trudge, trudge up the footprinted but snowpacked path. I hear the silence through the hood and whip noises wipe the hood, that’s an errant twig or two. No challenges of an athletic nature on the ascent really. I whack some windrows and hear no little critters run off, they are sleeping in too or hiding as I crunch the snow, or they took off running. I notice all sorts of tracks,I see a large dragging sort of thing, a coon must have scored something. Big black squirrel nests in the trees. Dog poop, dog tracks.Lots of squirrel tracks. The stick is nice on off camber stretches, really balances me out as I side slip. After awhile it seems stupid to carry the thing on the top of the ridge where it is easy going, but I know what is ahead. My stick is nice and sturdy and as I go along I work the old eye-hand coordination and focus on dried twigs on the siding trees and bushes and swipe them off with the stick. I am on to the right, even extended arm and catch up the stick for following swipes. I try extendended left arm swipes and miss by an inch or so until I repeat the move, there is the inaccuracy to work. I get to an ancient birch I know and I wonder. About that Birch the kids built a lean-to with sticks. Most of one half of the birch is there and it is magnificently mottled of bark and fungus and huge, long living braches, three or four, still grow to the sky. Beautiful natural specimen. I get to the half way fork and think of the undesignated draw after the steep down hill. The down hill is in two parts, the first a peice of cake as the snow forms ridges behind your heal and form impromptu wedege-steps, a granny could do this. The second phase is different. The slope is such that the snow is inclined to not stick on the slope and bare dirt shows through. Some kids went half way up and sledded down, I see. Stick time now. I try one handed as usual and feel a great deal of slipping, and gravity is a threatening force. I’d rather fall on my face climbing than bounce unexpectedly on my hip. Now I do the “cripple” and put the stick in front of me holding it with both hands, better safe than sorry. I get to the undesignated draw that short pants summer walkers would abjure, with all the tickly and eventually abrasive weed growth. No human signs, but a high traffic lane just the same. Here the deer signs are profuse and easy to see in the less trafficked snow. I look for the spot I flushed some turkey, by a large clump of mature cedar. Those cedar are as pretty as the old birch. No turkey, just lots of dried wild flowers all around. I like my stick this time, thin yet sturdy. Out near the mouth of the path I see a thicker stick and customize it and file it for some reason. That’s dumb as there is not a stick shortage. I prop the stick by the one designated entry and put the old one by the other, or was that vice versa? Don’t matter, I am not going to the sporting goods store to buy one then, am I. Walking home I feel inclined to walk the field in untrampled snow and the six inches or so feels like silk on the insteps of my feet and ankles as I regain a flat land gait. Feels so good. I pull up the hood again going home as the less than gale force breeze feels so cool after the still warmness of the woods. We are talking fifteen and more degrees and no whipping wing. I’ve been stuck in the house for seemingly endless days on end with nor fresh air other than walking the mutts, and the little paws can not take too much. The sun is an opalescent gray “could be”, shoot, I’m going, no household chores or Superbowl yet this morning.Outside the chill is nothing more than a facial stimulant in the worn L.L.Bean Thinsulate MountainParka, I do not pull the waist strings, nor velcro the wrists, nor pull down the face hole. I wear the little $.98 blaze orange light knit cap knowing I will c get hot and drop the hood when I start at Deerwood. Once and a while the sun casts hard shadows through the lead layerings of overcast, as I walk a hlf mile to the park. Stick, stick, stick that’s all I think of, other than wondering of the footing on the ridge ascents. A Stick is not something you get at the sporting goods store. I do not go more than a few feet up the path to a windrow, and there she is. Too long by a foot or so, but I see the end is in rot so I snap off the rot, snap down to the good solid. The path has been walked by dozens since the snowfall and the footing is fine and when my feet side-slip every so slightly the stick reassures me. It is a trudging effort and very unathletic. My butt in general was stiff until I started the walk and swung the legs a bit going to the park. I have reservations as to the trudging effort up the snowpack path with a stick, that is, is this beneficial for the sacarilliac in general and the lunbar region and hip joints? I forget those worries and trudge, trudge, trudge up the footprinted but snowpacked path. I hear the silence through the hood and whip noises wipe the hood, that’s an errant twig or two. No challenges of an athletic nature on the ascent really. I whack some windrows and hear no little critters run off, they are sleeping in too or hiding as I crunch the snow, or they took off running. I notice all sorts of tracks,I see a large dragging sort of thing, a coon must have scored something. Big black squirrel nests in the trees. Dog poop, dog tracks.Lots of squirrel tracks. The stick is nice on off camber stretches, really balances me out as I side slip. After awhile it seems stupid to carry the thing on the top of the ridge where it is easy going, but I know what is ahead. My stick is nice and sturdy and as I go along I work the old eye-hand coordination and focus on dried twigs on the siding trees and bushes and swipe them off with the stick. I am on to the right, even extended arm and catch up the stick for following swipes. I try extendended left arm swipes and miss by an inch or so until I repeat the move, there is the inaccuracy to work. I get to an ancient birch I know and I wonder. About that Birch the kids built a lean-to with sticks. Most of one half of the birch is there and it is magnificently mottled of bark and fungus and huge, long living braches, three or four, still grow to the sky. Beautiful natural specimen. I get to the half way fork and think of the undesignated draw after the steep down hill. The down hill is in two parts, the first a peice of cake as the snow forms ridges behind your heal and form impromptu wedege-steps, a granny could do this. The second phase is different. The slope is such that the snow is inclined to not stick on the slope and bare dirt shows through. Some kids went half way up and sledded down, I see. Stick time now. I try one handed as usual and feel a great deal of slipping, and gravity is a threatening force. I’d rather fall on my face climbing than bounce unexpectedly on my hip. Now I do the “cripple” and put the stick in front of me holding it with both hands, better safe than sorry. I get to the undesignated draw that short pants summer walkers would abjure, with all the tickly and eventually abrasive weed growth. No human signs, but a high traffic lane just the same. Here the deer signs are profuse and easy to see in the less trafficked snow. I look for the spot I flushed some turkey, by a large clump of mature cedar. Those cedar are as pretty as the old birch. No turkey, just lots of dried wild flowers all around. I like my stick this time, thin yet sturdy. Out near the mouth of the path I see a thicker stick and customize it and file it for some reason. That’s dumb as there is not a stick shortage. I prop the stick by the one designated entry and put the old one by the other, or was that vice versa? Don’t matter, I am not going to the sporting goods store to buy one then, am I. Walking home I feel inclined to walk the field in untrampled snow and the six inches or so feels like silk on the insteps of my feet and ankles as I regain a flat land gait. Feels so good. I pull up the hood again going home as the less than gale force breeze feels so cool after the still warmness of the woods.v NobodySpecial Member #23287, posted 02-04-00 09:37 PM Interesting story. I could see in some parts that It repeated. I'm not saying that I didn't like it. On the contrary!!! I think it's a very good story. you do have a lot going for you. I hope to see more of your stories on this BB. I have also printed a story on the BB - It's called "SpiderBite" and it's at the Fantasy BB. I'll see you around!! ------------------ Dick Tercek - ,,,<^;;^>,,, - meow E-mail me at Otherworld@prodigy.net or click the mail button!!! 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