A weekend at work, followed by a misty Monday

1/22/11

This weekend I worked.  But this was not a bad thing.  In the field of outdoor recreation, it's pretty standard to work evenings, weekends, and holidays.  These are the times when people can recreate.

On Saturday, I led a Dutch oven cooking program and burned the cobbler with the help of a couple of world champion Dutch oven chefs.  Did you know that there were "world champion" Dutch oven chefs?  I was in awe of these women, the equipment they toted, and the enthusiasm they brought to this January afternoon gathering of strangers.  They had heard that someone was going to lead a Dutch oven cooking program and showed up to join the fun.

Everyone who participated in the brief outdoor cooking program got a warm bowl of peach cobbler and a smoky outfit to enjoy until the next laundry day.

1/23/11

The weather was warmer today (in the high 20s), so Ez dragged me outside to listen to the birds.  He was so excited, he could hardly contain himself.  "Come outside and listen," he insisted, as he tugged at my hand, demanding that I immediately follow.

I would be away on Sunday afternoon, just as I had been on Saturday, but working for another employer, doing the same thing.. getting people outside, burning yet another cobbler, and smelling of the smoke I had showered off the night before.

It would be a great afternoon, as my students rolled down the snow-covered hill by the pond like a grassy knoll in spring, their faces turning the color of blushing apples.  Newly fallen snow crystals glistened with rainbows, while bright sun cleansed the sky of dreary clouds.

Trees stopped shivering for a moment, as fluffy birds sang with joy.  My heart joined the chorus.

1/24/11

Mist froze on the trees leaving frost worthy of pictures, as fog enveloped the landscape around the pond.  Chain saws cut through the silence as a company contracted by the county cut trees along the road to keep them off power lines.  For hours, workers cut and shredded limbs, making a landscape that would be conducive to these above-ground links to civilization.

I wished things could be different, but knew with the high water table in the area that it would probably be impractical to bury the cables, so the power company was doing the only other thing it could do (for now) to keep the lights on.

Down the road, a red-tailed hawk sat in a small tree unfazed by the four lanes of traffic beside his meadow.  Why should I be bothered by a power line?