Episcopal Diocese of Minnesota

It was a frosty sunny morning and I had just returned from checking out some possible ski trails.  I was on a trail made by one of the big fire-fighting bulldozers this last Spring.  It cut up close to our property and then back across one of the paths of the fire that came through on Mother's Day.  It cut through much of the woods that seemed too think, swampy, and rugged for hiking; although several Winters ago, I did take a compass and break a snowshoe trail through it.  It wasn't a large section of land, maybe only 40 acres, but it was thick and rock-strewn rugged.

The bulldozer's trail still could be considered rough, but it looked pretty good for this Winter's skiing, and it gave me a new perspective on the property.  Like an eagle or perhaps a crow (I do not want to be humble about this), I could see the land in my mind's eye, looking down from above.  One could say that it was becoming organized in my mind: there was a "lay of the land", and there were my markers to plot my coordinates.  Like Golding's Pintcher Martin, who, on finding himself stranded on an island, immediately set about making streets and boundaries and in a sense creating a city, I was creating my trail system and organizing my "city".  The human need to organize has to be the original sin that caused them to be driven out of The Garden.

There I was, doing the same thing, and I was reciting Paul's "the very things I don't want to do, these I do ... Oh, who will deliver me from this body of sin?"  Paul's answer was "Christ Jesus".  I thought about that and went back to my trail for another walk.  It was time to feel the warm sun against the frosty earth again, to smell the dry leaves and wood molds, to feel the clear air flow in and out of my lungs, and to listen to the wind.

The wind didn't waste any time.  I hadn't walked a hundred feet before I came upon a rabbit trail.  This one was well worn and weaving through the alders.  Then came the deer trails crisscrossing my ski trail, and some deer were even using my trail.  There were some rubbings where a young stud was working off some testosterone, and then there was the wolf scat right in the middle of my road.  The wind was reminding me of an important fact of life.  Hearing it felt like someone taking a rock filled Number 2 Duluth Pack off my shoulders.  She said, "This place was well-organized long before any human ever set foot on it."

Other titles in this series:

• Winter
• Spring
• Easter
• Easter II

• American Widgeons, originally written 1997 for the East Range Epistle.
• Clearing Land, originally written 1997 for the East Range Epistle.
• Dogs, originally written in 1999 for the East Range Epistle
• Good Friday and Trees, originally written in 1998 for the East Range Epistle
• Michigan Sand, originally written in 1998 for the East Range Epistle
• Rivers, originally written in 1996 for the East Range Epistle.
• Skiing Burntside, originally written 1997 for the East Range Epistle.
• Snow Trails, originally written 1997 for the East Range Epistle.
• The Singing River, originally written 1996 for the East Range Epistle.
• Winter Trails, originally written 1997 for the East Range Epistle.

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