By Tim King

Special to the Leader

I managed to escape to the woods for a few precious hours last weekend. After a cold and blustery Saturday, which more closely resembled late January than late March, I was relieved when I woke to abundant sunshine and winds that finally seemed to blow themselves out the day before.

Making tracks to the opposite corner of Scarborough, I found my way to the Fuller Farm property on Broadturn Road. As a fair amount of snow has now melted off of my front lawn, I was more than a little surprised to find the entire 100-plus acre field still covered with several inches of the crunchy white stuff.

Given the rain we’d received recently, along with the seemingly endless supply of sunshine that the field receives (at least when there is sunshine to be had) I thought for sure that the place would already be a muddy mess. As I pulled into the parking lot, I prepared myself for the worst and hoped for the best.

The sun was high in the sky when I arrived, just as a more ambitious family had found their way back to the lot and began peeling off layers of clothes from their two small children. I noticed that the couple must have some experience in winter hiking with small kids since there was a small (and light) plastic toboggan propped up against the car too.

With no traditional sledding hills to be found on the property, I instantly new what it was there for.

In my own adventures with toddlers on the trail, I’ve found this inexpensive device to be well worth its weight in gold when the inevitable, “Daddy, my legs are tired. Can you carry me?” call comes. Generally, this occurs just as we reach the furthest possible distance from our starting point. 

I’ve come to realize that its much better to look a little silly, toting an empty piece of plastic through the woods than to suffer through a half-mile trek through the snow with a 4-year-old on your back.

This lesson definitely falls into the “better to have it and not need than need it and not have it category” for me. For this reason, I also keep a few plastic glow-sticks in my glove compartment. Although I tell myself that they are there in case of a roadside emergency, I’ve used more than a few to help quiet and magically entertain a cranky little one in the back seat during a long car ride to somewhere else.

So, wanting to spare little time for chit chat during my solitary daddy hiatus, I head out on the trail (with my handy dandy SpongeBob water bottle) and my trusty walking stick that an equally troublesome and ingenious beaver was nice enough to carve from a oak sapling several years ago for me. It’s seen many miles since then.

 The glare of sunshine off the snowy landscape was tremendous as I made my way through fields and into the forest. Along the way, I was surprised at the firmness of the snow pack and made my way easily across the top of the snow with little need for the snowshoes I had packed in my trunk – just in case.

Entering the wooded section of the trail, I crossed a low lying section of the trail by crossing over a series of logs that allow water to run underneath and allow hikers to travel safe and dry above. While the land below was already thawed, muddy and wet, the log trail itself still had close to two feet of snow packed vertically upon it. Tree limbs that would be well out of reach in the summer, now had to be carefully ducked under so as not to be poked in the head.

All around me, as I walked, I could hear tiny drops of snow and ice falling from the warmed branches of trees overhead–this single sound continuously punctuating the otherwise silent forest.

Crossing a small brook, I came upon a most inviting south facing hill that had sufficiently dried itself of snow and ice and quickly constructed a makeshift platform to sit on using a few dry branches that had been cast off by a long forgotten winter wind.

As I sat, the punctuating cascade of snow and ice being pulled back down to earth surrounded me. Occasionally, the pace would increase slightly when a breeze would noiselessly meander through the bare branches and shake free the more stubborn hangers on. Sitting there, soaking up the sun for the first time in weeks, somewhere deep inside of me, it occurred to me that winter was finally starting to let us go from its cold, hard grip.

Before that moment, I had always thought that spring was the one that could force winter away for us – its powerful warmth beating back the cold into exile somewhere up north. 

Now, I’m not so sure that it’s not just a matter of winter running out of gas and retreating in order to fight another day (likely in a few short months). Coincidently, the days become longer and the sun a little warmer but this warmth does not conquer cold, it simply fills the void until cold decides to return. 

The strength of winter cannot be denied. The change from winter to spring is more about letting go than giving in.

Back on the sunny hillside, I continue to sit and listen to the snow fall from the trees, when several small pieces suddenly fall down on top of me. 

Startled at first, I am soon calmed and even refreshed by the coolness that the small deluge has provided me while sprawled out comfortably on the ground. As the snow melts and trickles icily down the back of my neck, I do not cringe and shudder as I would have done if the same thing had occurred just a few weeks before.

No, this is not a slap in the face of blowing December snow or a February cold snap. This is merely the swan song of wilder wintery days and nights past. I know that winter is letting go and spring is coming. Even the coldest April wind cannot turn back time. 

Tim King is a freelance writer who sees the forest and the trees from his home in Scarborough. He can be reached at - sylvan.sauntering@gmail.com