New Years Day

                New Years Day broke golden and pink this year as we rolled out of bed to prepare for our long walk. Right after dawn, the clouds dropped down to ground level, blanketing the world in silvery fog and frosting the twigs and branches. We ate hot oatmeal and made a large pot of tea, planning on having left-overs for the trail. By nine am, friends had gathered--- six people and two dogs—all bundled in layers of rain gear and wool. Even the dogs were dressed for the weather.  We piled into cars and headed for the trailhead, watching the sun burn away the fog in a few clearings. It would be a beautiful day.

                Our walk started at Oak Creek trailhead, climbing steadily up an old logging road along a creek, passing maples and alders, then moving into doug fir, all covered in fat, bright green winter moss. Ferns   blanket the ground and the understory of Indian Plum and other shrubs faded away, leafless and still. There were others on the trail as well—older men on bicycles, families walking the dog, women chatting cheerfully….and hour later, we emerged on the top of Dimple Hill in full sun. Below, the  valley was still covered in the thick fog, and just a few other hills, like islands, peaked above. Sun and snacks, then down into the Saddle, another long walk through Doug fir forest along the logging roads. This part of the forest has been thinned recently, and, right before the crossing road, a clear cut patch allowed us to see across the entire Willamette Valley to the Three Sisters and Mount Jefferson, covered in snow.  Because we were at the half way pint, it was time for Lunch!  Two more people joined us and added another dog to the mix.

  

              After lunch, we settled into the quiet rhythm of the Long Walk. Even the dogs began to pace themselves, instead of running madly after every stick and scent on the trail. The light shifted to late afternoon by one thirty, backlighting the mosses brilliant green.  The air was chilly, but still. The trail followed the contour of the ridgeline, rising then falling towards the arboretum and the end of the walk. We turned steeply downward, following a path through thinned forest until we reached the unchanged section of the woods. Yews and big leaf maples twisted and turned, searching for the best light under the fir canopy.  Mosses and ferns held the ground together.  We crossed a stream, though about what would bloom there come springtime, and came down to the pond at the base of the hill. By now, it was chilly; the dogs did not jump into the water. We circled the pond and walked the last half mile to the trailhead. There is something satisfying about walking the ridgeline of your homerange on New Year’s Day; the traverse grounds you to your place in a new way.

             

  Mark and I came home to black eyed peas cooked with onions and garlic in the crockpot, added collards from the last garden plant and some tomatoes from the basement shelf, and made cornbread from the last of our home-grown cornmeal. I built a fire and the cats gathered around.  After dinner, I read another section of of A Christmas Carol aloud and spent a peaceful half an hour contemplating new tomato varieties in the seed catalogs.  A new year has begun.