Kathleen Clary Miller has written 300+ columns and stories for periodicals both local and national, and has authored three books (www.amazon.com/author/millerkathleenclary). She lives in the woods of the Ninemile Valley, thirty miles west of Missoula.
By March first, I’ve already popped what is technically considered an overdose of vitamin D and killed any calcium absorption with enough coffee to sink a ship. When I awaken at 9:00 in the morning and it is still so dark and snowy that I think what’s the hurry, then pray in order to pull back the covers but winter just won’t give up it’s time to focus on what I’m grateful for. Give me a moment; I know I’ll think of something.
Silence. There is nothing quite like the quiet of a thick blanket of freshly fallen snow. And after months of it, I’m not as easily annoyed when my dear husband cranks up the volume on yet another action/thriller video.
Fresh air. I am joyful while strapping on snowshoes then planting my trekking poles, pleased to be clad in something other than flannel pajamas which is all I’ve worn since a week ago when I threw on some jeans to go grocery shopping during the 20-minute window that the roads were plowed. Out here in the Nine Mile Valley, our driveways are winter wonderland trails tantamount to any the rest of the world must travel to in order to participate in winter sports. YAY! As I breathlessly hike until my legs feel like rubber and my lungs burn, I thank God for arms and legs (I pray continually that they are not frost-bitten) and I feel deep gratitude seeing the final round in the bend that leads to my back porch. I appreciate the time outdoors because I feel better afterwards (who wouldn’t?) back inside.
Indoors. I feel so fortunate to have a roof over my head and radiant heating under my feet (I lie flat on the floor and gasp until my heart rate returns to normal). Even the confused birds fight for entry at the sight of me thawing. I hear them tap tap tapping at exterior logs, desperately trying to bore a hole into some semblance of spring.
Hot water—lots of it. A piping, long shower has been calling my name for two miles in the blizzard I misjudged to be a slight breeze and a light snow flurry. I am eternally grateful for fingers that have feeling enough after 30 minutes to turn on the faucet.
Food. Lunch will follow; how happy am I, that I can consume the same number of calories in one meal I otherwise would in a whole week were I simply sunning on some beach and getting no aerobic exercise!
The fireplace. No need to elaborate here.
Icicles are lovely works of nature’s art! Pine branches appear no longer green but dark grey so that my daily view is every bit as stunning as a black-and-white Ansel Adams photograph! There is so much glory to be recognized, even in such bleakness…until that moment when I realize that if I don’t see something red or yellow or bright blue very soon I’ll go stark raving mad.
The remote control. Thank you, Lord, for technology! When I am on the brink of insanity I lift and push, desperately seeking any colorful entertainment that will lift me from this comatose slumber like the kiss from Sleeping Beauty’s prince. The television engages, the screen lights up (a beacon of hope) and there it is! Not exactly what I was continuously praying for: “Highlights from the Winter Olympics.”
"Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances…”
1 Thessalonians 5:18