(HOST) Commentator Henry Homeyer is a gardening coach and writer, who likes to get outside in the winter – to enjoy the Winter Landscape.
(HOMEYER) I like winter. I like the special quality of winter light in the late afternoon, those purples and blues that were captured so perfectly by artist Maxfield Parish. But most of all, I like passing through the woods on skis when the sun is bright. The snow sparkles the way diamonds might, if scattered on a Mediterranean beach.
I visit the woods in winter for the same reason that I go to museums: for the sheer beauty on display. There is something uplifting about great works of art – or great works of nature. But I don’t need to go to the Grand Canyon to feel awe; I can enjoy the woods near home just as much. Part of the joy for me is going slowly enough to see what’s there, and taking time to appreciate the details.
As I approach my favorite woods, stolid maples wait patiently along the lane, old and venerable. They will share their sweet nectar in another month or two but for now they stand silently, motionless, waiting.
In the forest, young hemlocks bend under the weight of snow, their long arms reaching to the ground for stability, green fingers disappearing into the snow. Going through glades of mature hemlocks or pines, their branches touching high above, is almost like visiting a great cathedral. I like the puffs of snow that blow off their branches – snow smoke I call it – even if some goes down my
neck.
Teenage beeches are the glamour stars of the woods, their bark is smooth, gray and free of blemishes. Young beeches often hold their dry brown leaves until May, and they rustle when I jostle them. But the old beeches seem somber, even sad. They are stolid, unmoving, and somehow remind me of elephants, their grey legs showing wrinkles and scars.
The winter woods share the stories of animals more readily than summer woods. The tracks of a coyote cross my path, moving with determination. Unlike my dogs, who back track and snuffle and play, the coyote leaves a different message with his tracks: I am on a mission. I am hungry. I have no time to play.
Mice and squirrels are common in the winter woods, scampering around and looking for food. I’ve seen the tracks of a mouse suddenly disappear – its demise explained by the marks of wingtips and claws.
Twice I’ve seen otter tracks. They appear to be playful, joyful animals, sliding down a river bank to create a slippery-slide right out of the Mother West Wind books I read as a boy. Their back legs are so powerful they can push themselves uphill on their bellies, gliding as much as five feet at a time.
So whenever winter starts to feel oppressive and I long for time in my garden, I call my dogs, put on my skis, and head for the woods. I recommend it.