Sizing Up Another Year In The City Of OddJanuary, 2010by Bill Siebersma
The prospect of a long, cold winter with little but four walls and the hypnotic glow of a television's face is enough to drive one to the bars, bowling alleys, and theaters in search of inspiration . . . or to the Zuni Mountains for some cross-country skiing. Asleep under a blanket of snow, the forests, meadows, and ridges are a sunny, white paradise during the day, a dramatic starry adventure at night. A day playing in the sun and snow during the dread of winter can rekindle whatever it is we are losing to the dark and gloom. Vitamin S for the soul, to be taken at least weekly at first sign of winter melancholy.
Skiing at night, on the other hand, is simply magical. A bejeweled void of vast, beckoning darkness overhead punctured by stars brighter than you've ever seen, a stairway of dreams in a hushed high country cathedral. The silence is deafening, the sound of your own breathing syncopates to the hammering in your chest, clouds of breath punctuating every other stride until it becomes a flowing waltz through a hall of wonder. Then stop, and contemplate the Milky Way, a heavenly host of distant lights weaving eons of time and space into a glimmering nocturnal necklace. To the north, Ursa Major, aka the Big Dipper, points resolutely to Polaris, the North Star, hub of the galactic panorama rotating overhead.
My town seems drugged these days as the nettles of revenge slowly compost, it's halting citizenry polarized by the triple mimries of ignorance, prejudice, and hate. Where the only good men are those too distant to scrutinize, and where no good deed goes unpunished while self-serving scoundrels peck holes in the blindfold of justice. What is it about this place that forbids common folk to unite in their own best interest against the flint-hearted vultures that continually pick them clean? I suspect it's been so, a long time in this salted garden of enlightenment.
Wednesday, 10:48 pm, 4.3 degrees Fahrenheit on the Oregon Scientific weather station's #1 remote sensor, which sits on the north side of an 18” Ponderosa pine tree in my back yard near McGaffey Lake. This is the second night in a row that I have cross-country skied up the Strawberry Trail in a powdery blanket of snow. Just three days ago I bicycled the upper McGaffey single track one last time. The sky had been overcast and expectant, sifting a few crystalline snowflakes that sparkled like little diamonds in the late afternoon light. A wild, restless wind tousled the tops of the big Ponderosas, Yuletide's frosty breath blowing in the holiday season.
In the old days, winter solstice marked the beginning of the annual solar cycle, when days become longer again at the rate of about 2 minutes per day, not much, but it adds up to about 6 hours in 6 months. And speaking of months, or “moons,” as they were once called, which genius devised the current calendar of 12 “months” in an annual solar cycle? Last time I counted there were 13 moon cycles each lasting 28 days, for a grand total of 364 days in the 365-day solar cycle. The extra day was celebrated as a special feast day between June and July. It's the Creator's own grand pageantry and it was central to daily life until ever more crowded cities, pollution, artificial light, dimmed the night sky for all but those who live in remote arid altitudes. It seems only the ancient Mayans were apt enough to preserve the details of 17 different galactic cycles without much academic, religious, political, or commercial embellishment. The resulting long count of days is the only accurate record of days since mankind began to count time in 3114 BC. Ancient histories tell of a major catastrophe at that time that reshuffled the face of the earth and thus became the anchor of all recorded time.
Friday,10:08 am, 26.1 degrees Fahrenheit in the long extinct hamlet of McGaffey, New Mexico. The little box stove is hissing behind me, a fresh filling of cedar splits popping and crackling while clear bright sunlight streams through the windows. I must somehow lead this rambling expedition of words back to the trailhead and get it to Nate before the gate swings shut. Maybe with a simple wish for peace and common unity in my community. In the coming days of the renewal of light let us seek the inner light of camaraderie in our hearts and homes as we look forward to another year of growth, cultivation, and harvest. Let us resolve to observe the wonders of our winter world with skis strapped to our feet at every opportunity, and especially at night under a bright second-quarter moon. |
