It’s been less than a month since the first snowfall of the year, and though there have been many since, it’s always the first one that makes the biggest impact. This year it came on November 26th. I woke up in a warm bed and looked outside to see the pines heavy and still with snow. The sight instilled a sense of peace, which quickly dissolved when I noticed the meter high snow drifts on my deck. It’s not that snow is an unexpected thing in late November on the outskirts of Duluth, MN, it’s just that it had been absent for the last six months and its return brought both a sense of excitement and disappointment, an awkward combination not unique to winter.

As I made my way to the kitchen to fire up the tea pot, I watched the snow rise up in tiny cyclones across my yard. I then spent the next fifteen minutes sipping Chai and watching said cyclones all spin towards my deck and break up on top of the drifts. I thought to myself, “I’m gonna be out there all day,” and considered clearing only a path from the door to the yard for the dog’s benefit, but ultimately I decided I didn’t want to start the season that way. If I didn’t clear the snow that day, it would sit on my deck till spring. Reluctantly moving to action, I put on full snow gear for the first time of the year and made my way outside.

All in all, the deck was cleared in under an hour, and less than half that was spent clearing the walkways and filling the bird feeders. The tasks left me with a slow, comfortable sense of accomplishment. It’s not just that I managed to complete those first snowfall chores before noon, it’s also that by caring for a place, the connection to it deepens, and this blog is about connection to place.

I am lucky enough to spend most of my time in one that I find beautiful and undeniably powerful. To be reminded of this I only need to take a drive up the rocky shore of Lake Superior. To the West, the hills beckon with a network of trails and waterways. To explore them is to awaken a sense of presence and playfulness which easily goes dormant in the throughs of daily routine. Sometimes, being in these woods can even allow a person to step back from deeper griefs, perhaps a gift from the old pines who stand still and resilient through all things. It is not new news that forests are healing places, and we are fortunate to live among so many in Minnesota.

Now, as we walk towards the heart of winter, I invite you to join me on a new venture where I share reflections and experiences not just on the majestic wilderness of Minnesota, but also on the events, places, people, and culture that make it so unique. Until then. . .

Keep Listening,

Jenny Marie