Who Owns the View?

Nine degrees above zero isn't cold weather on a sunny day...out of the wind. I wouldn't wear shorts but with a sweater, jacket, warm socks and shoes, and a hat a walk in the woods in 9 degrees is more pleasant than a walk in a park in 79 degrees and sunny. Sunday morning was one of those perfect March days for a walk. The snow has melted down to patchy white ice on the southwest sides of the hills. Falls flattened sheddings are a damp mat layering the ground. There are no insects buzzing and biting. Somethings about to happen in the woods and these are the final days of calm before the tree and plant people wake up.

Doc and I followed the beaten path until we reached a fork in the woods. The path going up was well worn. To our left going down the hill was a snow crusted trail. I would likely be tresspassing to leave the trail but the road less traveled led to uncertainty. I have to know where I'm not invited to go. Surely there must be something more interesting where no one has gone.

The route having been left unventured through the winter was easier walking. The road more traveled was mostly ice. A treacherous walk but the destination was certain because it was well marked for the snowmobilers. The unmarked trail had the potential of adventure. Doc walks like a good boy now. He stays within 20 yards. Every few minutes he stops to see that I'm still with him, smiles, and runs back to me as if I just returned home a week away. Doc makes sure other four legged people know he's been there. He carries an incredible amount of pee which he deposits after thoroughly inspecting various stops.

Northern Wisconsin has an abundance of evergreen trees. A more aware person would know the difference in species. I call them all pine trees. Southern Wisconsin is not as green as the north woods. When I see a pine in the souther forests I'm drawn to it. How'd it get there? How'd it survive? Where I grew up the lush green and spicy aroma is something I took for granted. Here the pine is less fragrant to me but each tree is a green land mark. Doc and I came around a bend and our virgin trail disappeared. We weren't the first to travel here since the snow fell. Turkey by the dozens used this trail. Their tracks told the story of their journey. The clump of pine trees might have given them protection from the wind. The big oaks were likely roosts.

Doc led the way to the pines. Something with their mass must intrigue him. He had to inspect, snoop, pee, sniff. Standing next to the pines, the view to the north west was spectacular. Eastern Dane County is flat. The glacier leveled the land on its way south, and deposited debris as it retreated. To the west the glacier pushed heaps at its edge and then retreated. What it left us to the western edge of our county is beautiful rolling hills and deep valleys.

I have a walking stick I made from an ash tree. Five years ago I cut the tree and left it to dry in Aaron's room thinking he would carve something out of it. He came home and died before doing anything with the wood. I carved a walking stick for Patrick. It stayed with me. A symbol was carved into the handle. A stick man walking between rain drops, cool and slow. I leaned on the stick and admired the view. Three houses dotted the scene. Some people possess the land. The view is free.

My thoughts were with Thoreau. Is it the farmer who has the land or the land who has the farmer? If I owned the hill and the valley would I appreciate the view? I said a prayer of thanks for all that does not have me.