Sky Meadows

After footling about at the foot of the hill, using the euphemism and attached dogs' leads we started up the path. It was a pretty good climb. The two raisins that serve me for lungs were feeling the challenge more than a little. The sight of a bench at the top of the first rise came as rare and refreshing fruit. The walk challenged one's ability to quickly switch from close to distance focus - the former was necessary for avoiding the cow pats and the latter for enjoying the view which became increasingly gobsmacking as we rose higher and higher above the surrounding landscape. The scene fell away in a series of levels - the rusty red of the field around us gave way to the reddish grey of a line of trees, then a greener field beyond, then lines of hills and fields becoming bluer toward the horizon.

From the top of the meadow, a path led us downhill a short way into the woods where the path resumed its upward climb. Here the scene was dominated by the grey of the tree trunks occasionally puncuated with a splash of color from berries or red thorns. After negotiating some species of cattle-excluding gate, we crossed a fire break through which we had a view of the top of the ridge we were climbing. Toward the top of the ridge there was a line of demarcation between the grey of the tree trunks and a whiter color which I originally took to be snow. It turned out to be ice - there must have been an ice storm the previous evening. From that point on we began to see where ice had accumulated, starting in the tops of the trees.

Emerging from the woods we strolled along a path that wound among groves of trees and up and down gentle rises. We stopped at a fence over which there was another fantastic view of the valley. Those who brought food got outside of it. The rest of us chatted breezily. Perhaps it's a "getting older" thing but I find myself more and more startled by context shifts. I'd seen my sister Stephanie just a little over a week before in Pittsburgh and it was kind of breaking my brain to suddenly be seeing her again on top of a hill in western Virginia. I noticed that the ice was starting to appear on the ground and on the fence posts and wires. Nora lifted up a beautiful disc of ice that had formed at the top of one of the fenceposts. Who's that guy who does the ephemeral sculptures using natural materials? Goldsworthy? Something like that. Anyway, he would have shrieked with delight.

Suddenly it seemed like there was ice everywhere. Well, it's because there was ice everywhere. On close inspection, the grass blades in the meadow were all covered with so much ice it was amazing that they were still standing up. The ice must have accumulated in such a way that it was providing support for itself. A buzzard flew by at treetop level along the ridge.

More ice. Shrubs along the path were thickly coated in it, the sheaths of ice several times wider than the twigs they covered. The surface of the ice was so smooth that in place it looked like a glassy fluid. On some of the more thickly coated branches the ice refracted the light, creating an inverted crystal-ball view of the scene beyond.

After a while, the path approached the trees again and we began to hear the sound of the wind among the branches, the ice squeaking like the ice cubes in a Gibson. Or a margarita. Or some other delicious beverage. Hm. Back in a moment.

Yes, as I was saying, we could hear the ice cracking and squeaking in the branches overhead. Here and there on the ground we began to see newly fallen branches that had broken under the weight of the ice and we realised that it might not be a good idea to venture too much farther along the path which was now going deeper into the woods. At that point in the walk, the sun was behind the trees and the light was being reflected and refracted by the ice into thousands, no MILLIONS of brilliant pinpoints of rainbow-colored light. Sorry, BILLIONS of pinpoints.

It's often anticlimactic to have to retrace one's steps at the end of an excursion and, in spite of the changing light and fresh perspectives on things we'd already seen, this was no exception. I really wanted to continue into the woods but not-getting-killed won out and we turned back. Some of those fallen branches were wicked thick. Like, eight inches across.

On the way back I saw some ice-covered dried flower heads that I hadn't seen on the way up. Pretty. Facing downhill as we descended I was able to enjoy the changing perspective with the distant hills rising above the horizon and nearby treetops beginning to obscure the meadows beyond.

Back in the parking lot we exchanged farewell hugs with the Springfield/Charlottesville contingent and went our several ways. What would have been a very pleasant day-after-Thanksgiving constitutional was made extraordinary by an ice storm. Long live the Friday excursion tradition! Let the 'Black Friday' set fight over their LED TVs in the consumer hell of their own making. They don't know what they missed.