ICE
“To appreciate the beauty of a snowflake, it is necessary to stand out in the cold.”
Snow and winter where I grew up outside of Philadelphia were short and terrific. Terrific because the snow was the giant toy and playmate I needed. From sledding to snowball fights to building snow forts and snow people. Snow always meant a few days off from school. Even at a young age, I liked when life was disrupted for a moment, and everything stopped and focused on one thing, the snow.
I felt sorry for the adults as they grumbled and shoveled the snow to the left and right. They spent all of their outdoor time getting snow out of their way to get going on their way.
The only suffering I experienced was pulling on and taking off those boots. Those hard plastic, inflexible boots with the latch system on the front. It was an effort choking those latches in place so they stayed. They never did. Nor did the boots keep my feet warm and dry. At that age, I didn't know my feet were numb until the boots came off. Despite the promise, those boots did not keep me safe.
As seasons change so do the seasons of life. As an adult, father, and wage earner, I lived years of dreading winter snows. Winter meant shoveling, and it meant driving in slippery conditions. It meant waiting in grocery lines with others, wrestling with a quiet panic believing there wasn't enough linguine or toilet paper in the house.
Winter has arrived again in New England as it has forever. I am a recent arrival in Maine and participant in its storybook winters on the scale of time. I am also at an age where I worry less about clearing the driveway with a snow shovel. With no children at home, I eat less and pass by the lines of worry at the market. I drive less because there are fewer places that I need to be.
At the tender age of sixty, I admit I like winter. This flies in the face of a collective distaste and dread of winter. I welcome the forced introspection that winter provides. As fresh snow muffles noise, I have learned to love silence again. I continue to enjoy the disruption. I also like the ways I have found to make winter terrific.
This year I purchased ice claws. Also known as ice awes or ice picks, they are tools of safety. Attached at each end of a six-foot rope are two wooden handles with metal points coming out of each end. This contraption, worn around the neck or threaded through a winter's coat, leaves the handles to dangle near your hands. The idea is to have the ice claws in hand in the unfortunate event of breaking through the ice while walking on a lake.
Terrific now includes exploring by foot or snowshoe or nordic skiing my favorite lake in northwest Maine. I enjoy traveling on a winter's day on an endless white landscape. Imagining myself as an arctic explorer. Most times, I am the only human etched in the landscape. It is there I find plenty of space to think and be.
My little mind sometimes wonders what would happen if the ice broke and I fell in a half-mile from shore with sixty feet of water below?
It is not the fear of falling in. It is the fear of not being able to get out. I cannot think of a worse fate than leaning on the edge of an ice hole like a wide-eyed seal pup. Grasping at slipperiness in an attempt to pull myself up and over to safety, I would be left to scream and not be heard. Clothes heavy from water weight. Boots freezing to concrete blocks. My body quivering and weakening from the cold.
I believe I drowned in a past life. Water fascinates and grasps me in a deep and mesmerizing way. It makes sense. I was born a Pisces, a water sign, in astrology terms. In the summer, find me on and in the water, but if I lose sight of shore, my heart skips a beat in a weird, kinda familiar way. I am not sure I could see the shore from inside a hole in the ice in the middle of the lake.
I am equally drawn to frozen water and the mysteries below the winter scape. Frozen lakes appear still but are always moving. As the lake level rises and falls during the winter, the ice speaks, and I listen. The lake has a voice of bellowing and moaning that is haunting. It is the sound of a great blue whale meowing at 40 fathoms. A burp from the earth's center.
So I continue to walk and walk with thoughts and metaphors in mind of this life of mine. At times there is the hesitancy of falling or failing in this life. Sometimes, I fear getting in over my head and not knowing what to do. Other times I charge ahead, not knowing conditions underfoot with caution thrown to the wind. And there is the constant curiosity and wonder of what it will look and feel like getting out. There were no guarantees when I fell into this life and no clues what it would be like getting out. So I walk and hold measures of limited safety against the unknown.
As winters unfold so do horizons and distances reached by foot. The more I venture, the further I go and the more confident and fearful I grow. I continue forward, knowing there are no guarantees. None. I walk with the mystery of life all around. Sometimes thick and supportive.
Sometimes thin and fragile. Always uncertain of what will be found. I haven't used the ice claws yet, and I don't plan to, but I will figure out how if needed.
The singer and flutist Jethro Tull reminds us of the great search in his song 'Skating Away On The Thin Ice Of A New Day ——— "So as you push off from the shore won't you turn your head once more and make your peace with everyone."……. "Spinning in your emptiness If you have to, pray. Looking for a sign that the universal minds has written you into the passion play."
Wide Open Writing
“We believe that getting away and connecting to nature and ourselves is central to the creative process. In this place of respite, we find our deeper truths. We purposely choose evocative settings where your adventurous spirit can come out to play with curiosity and wonder. Whether it’s desert or mountains, tropics or tundra, there’s always something sparkly to be discovered.”
2022 Retreats:
March 5–11 | Isla Holbox, Mexico
May 20–27 | Tuscany, Italy | Writer’s Residency (following the retreat)
August 14–19 | Maine | The Lighthouse Sessions – Men’s Retreat
August 21–27 | Maine | The Lighthouse Sessions – Women ‘s Retreat
WOW First Sunday
WHEN: The first Sunday of every month (unless otherwise stated on Our Calendar)
NEXT MEETING: February 6, 2022
TIME: 2 pm — 4 pm EST
GUEST HOST: Robin Gaines
WHERE/Eventbrite: You can sign up for free on Eventbrite, or you can join us via ZOOM LINK.
You can keep up with all of our happenings by clicking See What’s Next and entering your email address.
Join Robin Gaines on Sunday, February 6, 2022 for Wide Open Writing’s internationally acclaimed WOW First Sunday Write. The zoom session begins with introducing ourselves to each other and then an introduction to the theme. We’ll share a writing prompt(s), related to the theme, and then follow with a longer write. You’re welcome to use the prompt however you choose or to ignore it entirely and go off on your own writing journey. Readings of your work are welcome but not mandatory.
Sponsor A Writer Scholarship
Wide Open Writing has received numerous scholarship applications and emails from writers who want to attend one of our retreats but lack the resources to make it happen. We do everything we can to hold the cost to a minimum, but it still remains out of reach to many.
WOW is interested in doing what we can to change this, so we now turn to our community. The same ones who have made The WOWMobile a reality rather than just a fantastic idea that we thought up on a winter’s night in Maine. We are creating space for people to contribute toward the goal of making a writing retreat available to people that could not otherwise attend, similar to our fund-raising requests for the WOWMobile,
With Sponsor A Writer Scholarship (all genders), we intend to open a rolling application process that accepts applications continuously. While the cost of one recipient attending a WOW retreat is approximately $3,000, donations of any amount are encouraged. More or less. A lot more. A lot less. We’ve created a fund that when the total of your contributions reaches $3,000, we will then be able to send the next applicant in line to attend a WOW retreat.
This idea has been cooking since WOW began, but it is only now coming to fruition. Since starting The Quinn Alexandra Scholarship (for women), we brought Alicia Thornborrow to Tuscany with us (Testimonial). There’s very little in life that feels as good as making a positive difference in someone else’s life.
Please join us as we open our doors Wider. It’s an exciting time to be creative and alive.
Please click Sponsor a Writer Scholarship Application to apply for the scholarship.
Thank you for your generosity!