Over the past year or so Megan has been writing some incredible posts about the hobbies and adventures she pursues in her free time. Her writing is witty, her projects industrious, and her photographs striking. Now, I am not under the delusion that I can hold a candle to her blogging prowess, but I have decided–I do not know why–to strike out into the blogging world and sound a yawp of my own.
Sundays are a day of rest for most people; a time to relax, catch up on odds and ends, or to cheer a favorite team to victory. While this is true of many people, this is not true of my wife. On Sundays, Meg usually is busy from 7:30 am to 9:15 pm, but such is the life of someone in ministry. With Meg busy all day, I usually have no trouble finding things to fill my hours: paying bills, cutting my hair, buying groceries, running errands, grading papers. Only rarely do I find that my Sunday free time is in fact free, but last week I found myself with a Sunday free from obligations, and I decided to take full advantage of it.
During the winter, I sometimes get cabin fever. The walls of our apartment start closing in and the pent up energy inside me pushes me towards an escape, and like any caged beast, when I escape, I run for the woods. So last Sunday I traveled up to McConnells Mill State Park. The park is often crowded in the summer, but in the winter time, the trails and woods are deserted.
The park itself lies in a deep valley, split by a river running swiftly through the center. The woods overlooking the river are filled with giant boulders, steep cliffs, and, in the winter, colossal spires and columns of ice.
I walked around the woods for two or three hours, despite the temperature hovering steady at thirteen degrees. Because of all the run-off from snow melt, the icicles form caverns and corridors that you can climb into. It is awesome to think that these structures were built up over the past few weeks, and that in a few more weeks they will melt and flow down into the valley.
On my way back to the car, I decided to venture out onto the frozen ice, but not too far–I had my wife’s new camera to think of.
“Deep in the forest a call was sounding, and as often as he heard this call, mysteriously thrilling and luring, he felt compelled to turn his back upon the fire and the beaten earth around it, and to plunge into the forest, and on and on, he knew not where or why; nor did he wonder where or why, the call sounding imperiously, deep in the forest.”
– Jack London