Winter Dreaming

First published in print in my column The Nature of Things

A quiet night on the shore of a mostly frozen lake in the Sandhills.  Quiet but for the forlorn trumpeting of geese in the night, like so many tricycle horns, red bulbs squeezed and released in the dark. The wind croons, breathing its tug of war with the smoke stack of my wood stove belting out heat waves that radiate down to the marrow. A soothing, sinking heat after carrying wood and water in the cold, toting crates and coolers, provisions for the dogs, to at last relax into that invisible glow of utter warmth is as near to heaven as one can achieve in the middle of a High Plains winter. 

Winter camping.  It’s my new thing. 

There’s an inherent sense of solitude that belongs to the winter months—or maybe, rather, it belongs to this place. This vast rolling prairie that remains more authentically intact than most other places. Something about setting up camp against the cold, away from the everyday scuttle of life, gives way to a sense of calm; makes room for deeper breathing and a quieting of the mind. And who doesn’t need more of that?

To turn away, for a time, from the constant drone of dismal news from around the world. News that circles the globe, twisting tales; the latest spin. And yes the trouble is real, whether we’re wringing our hands and following the commentary, or looking away and hoping it’s all over soon. 

But spend a night alone, in the company of the stars, with the coyotes calling across the frozen plain while your dogs slumber in comparative comfort by your side in your cozy camp. Put your fears aside, just for a time; feel the sharpness of frosted air, the brittle scent of what’s real, right where you are now. And remember how great this country is. How it was built on the belief in hard work and the idea of freedom—a dream borne on the backs of the hard-scrabble people that carved it into reality for us. Imperfect as it is, it’s still the best game going and you don’t have to look too far to know it. 

Stoke your fire as the wind dies down and complete stillness overtakes the land. Realize we don’t all have to agree on everything for us to remain united as proud citizens of this nation; that our shared birthright as freedom-loving Americans overshadows our differences and strengthens us as a whole.

And as you drift off to sleep with the moon casting a blue hue over the snow-molded hills, you might rest a little easier; you may even dream of a brighter tomorrow, your belief in the promises a new day can hold—for the whole world—rekindled. 

I know it works for me…