After spending the last five winters in sunny Florida, I found myself back in my adult hometown of Storrs. My family and friends-both here and in Florida-found my excitement about experiencing winter again –the snow, the cold, the ice, the shoveling, the need for boots and warm coats, hats and gloves- surprising, amusing, and confusing. I had loved my life in Florida: daily beach walks and bike rides, mostly warm temperatures all winter long, lots of dance and yoga classes, summer clothes and bathing suits, flowers blooming all year. There was a lightness and ease about daily living and aside from the horrendous (and getting worse) Florida politics and occasional wandering alligators, living winters in St. Augustine was pure joy.
Still, covid and family situations called me back to Storrs. I am delighted to say that I welcomed returning to Storrs and revisiting fall and winter with such upbeat enthusiasm that I surprised even myself. When we first became snowbirds, I told everyone I knew and complete strangers I met up with in random places- that I would never, EVER, return to New England in the winter. I donated most of my winter clothing and replaced it with the lightest weight Florida clothing: sundresses, shorts, sandals, sun hats ….and of course, bathing suits and flip-flops, our daily attire. This was a snowbird time filled with happy tap dancing, yoga, beach bike rides, long walks, wild surf, magical full moons rising over the ocean, and carefully monitored but fully enjoyed time in the sun.
Once back in Storrs, after I adjusted to the loss of my lighthearted, easy way of moving through the world unencumbered, I consciously began to prepare myself for the upcoming season of short days, long nights, frigid temperatures, heavy clothing, hibernation introspection, and lingering COVID social isolation. I knew in my core that my physical, mental, and emotional health would depend upon my willingness to face and embrace the approaching winter with positive intention, open heartedness, wonder and, perhaps, even the abandon I once had as a child. It was important for me to create and declare an intention, or a “san kulpa” as we call it in yoga. This intention gave me a sense of purpose, and a resolve to stay in good spirits even when the winter blues descended. Once I sealed this intention, I began to sense the positive energy of a desired communion with winter slowly spreading through my body like the warm yellow light of a peaceful savasana.
To stay focused on my intention, I reminded myself daily that, since I had decided to remain here in CT through the cold, dark, seeming endless days (and months) of winter, when going out for any reason coffee, mail, groceries- required effort, I had to keep opening my soul to all that winter offered, demanded, and symbolized. We had spent nearly a year mourning the loss of our beloved 16 year old rescue dog Chloe, who passed on to dog heaven during COVID, and we were beginning to look into adopting a canine companion. The timing could not have been better.
Enter Cheyenne, the hefty three-year old rescue dog from Tennessee we adopted in late October. She came to us after three years of a life that included terrible abuse and neglect. She arrived in a van with about twenty other rescue dogs at a gas station parking lot at 2 a.m. on a rainy, stormy Halloween night. She did not want to leave the van but after finally leashing her, we managed together to lift her into the car. As we drove, I stroked her silky fur, gently massaged her head and ears, quietly chanted the mantra “you are safe” over and over. Once home, she retreated into a small fetal ball of fur in the back corner of a large crate and refused to move. We were at a loss as to how to get her to come out of her crate – or let us in! We delivered food and water and treats and soothing words, but she was fearful of our touch and refused to accept our food or affection. Even though I was a trauma-trained therapist for humans, I knew I needed professional canine therapy. I called a dog therapist who came to our house and helped Cheyenne to take some first steps. This required us to leash her and forcefully pull her out of the crate (very challenging with a strong, resistant 60 lb. dog) in order to get her outside to meet another dog. Within a few minutes, she began to sniff the dog and play, and once the canine bond was established, she began to accept treats and allow touch from us. I felt such relief I danced around the yard.
Within a few short weeks, we were slowly able to earn her trust and she began to accept our affection. She is a big mutt with a big personality of questionable origin: part Aussie Shepherd, part Bernese Mountain Dog, maybe a touch of Border Collie. Her butt is big and tail stubby, like a sheep’s and she has quite a swinging swagger. She’s a tri-colored beauty with floppy ears, deep dark eyes, and two round cinnamon-colored eyebrows that are her most endearing feature. We picked her for her adorable face, not knowing her tail had been docked and she weighed double what we were told. Some things are just meant to be and she has turned out to be “perfect” for us and we think the feeling is mutual! Fortunately for both of us, I quickly discovered she loves two things I also love: the car and the woods. She immediately became my inspiration for my daily Joshua Tract trail walks.
With my intention set and my dog ready, my fall and winter outdoor trail exploration plan became clear, simple and deliberate: I would walk every day, taking care of myself while helping her heal in nature.
I made a conscious decision to suit up and go out, no matter the weather, look for beauty all around, and, above all, not to complain about winter weather, a common New England tradition. Many people have very good reasons to complain about harsh winters: those who are homeless, or lack the money for heat, or food, or warm clothing, or are out of work, or without a car. I empathize with their winter struggles and try to help when I am able. Gratefully, I have no valid reason to complain about the harshness of winter (or hardly anything else for that matter), being healthy, white, and privileged in oh so many ways, so I resolved to be a peaceful warrior for winter optimism.
But I still had preparations to make. Now no longer a snowbird, I would need new boots, socks, a hat (so very easy to find here!). I found a pair of multi-colored hand-knitted mittens with fingers and a flap to pull over them for extra warmth at Stix and Stones. I dug out my old furry hooded super warm quilt-lined burgundy jacket from storage and shook off the dust. Then, in early November, I laid everything out for my first trek. Walking has always been my primary form of selfcare, exercise, and meditation. I have walked Horse Barn Hill for at least 40+ years with various family dogs. I have also walked at Mansfield Hollow Dam and meandered along its many beautiful trails in all seasons. These two sacred places have the spirit of Nipmuck ancestry, and I have always felt blessed to be walking in native footprints.
What I had never done before was explore the Joshua Trust tract preserves and trails that are nestled into our landscape, hidden jewels waiting for discovery. Once I started this adventure with Cheyenne, I felt a new part of myself awaken. We began by walking the familiar trails in the woods near Horse Barn Hill and explored them for days, getting reacquainted with the terrain, the trees, the stone walls, the streams.
Piqued with curiosity about new trails to discover, I went to the library and took out the Joshua’s Tract Walk Book (my husband Larry later gave me my own copy) for my planning and annotations. I then began my independent education about the magnificent natural wonders that surround us, guided by the detailed maps and trail directions, history, and the sweetest drawings of leaves and flowers.
My daily plan was to read about, explore, and then write about my experiences on the many preserves and trails in our town.
Each morning became infused with anticipation, even joy, as I read my Joshua’s Tract Walk Book and picked the trail of the day. Sometimes, sitting in the car waiting for my Starbucks coffee, I just randomly opened my tail guide to a page, turned to Cheyenne, and said, “ok, this is the one.” Then, as I walked day after day, (and Cheyenne romped forward and back) I began pausing, breathing in the air, feeling my feet moving slowly and mindfully; I began taking time to stand in Mountain pose next to a giant oak to look up at the expanse of blue sky above the forest of tall trees; I felt the warmth of the sun and offered a short salutation; I listened to the sounds of the many streams and rivers that wind through our forests. I marveled at the ice-capped waterfalls while feeling the strong northeast wind in my face. I picked up and held small stones, gazed in awe at giant boulders, stepped over fallen branches, watched birds swoop, squirrels scurry, stopped to admire a still-blooming fern bent into the mud. I was so excited by this new life direction that I almost forgot to notice winter’s penetrating cold arriving, and we just kept walking a new trail each day.
Once the snow began falling, however, a winter wonderland emerged. As we headed into dense forests with deep snow, I decided to carry my iphone (in case I fell or got stranded) and -to my surprise-I intuitively started taking photos. There was such magic and wonder in seeing winter’s beauty through the new lenses of age and absence. Mother Nature startled me with her dramatic beauty, silenced me with her quiet subtlety. She seemed to be calling me to acknowledge and respond to her works of art. I found myself walking less, pausing on the trail more often, taking time to offer reverence to this majestic outdoor cathedral. This “pausing” (in yoga, we say the pause is as important as the pose) brought time for witnessing, reflection and internalization of my experience. After my walks, I would come home, share them, and begin to explore ways to play with the editing features on my iPhone, something I had never done. Liking the creative process of editing, I decided to submit some of my photos to the Mansfield Community Center Winter exhibit. I’ve never studied photography (which probably is obvious to the discerning eye if you have seen the photos) but I fell in love with taking home the beauty I saw and becoming creatively involved with the images. This essay was written to accompany the photos.
If I could offer a word of wisdom to anyone seeking peace and contentment: turn to nature. My life really changed for the better when I began to walk the Joshua track trails as a daily meditation practice. I stopped looking at the weather forecast, stopped checking the outside thermostat, and gave myself no excuses to skip my walk (well, there was a colonoscopy somewhere in there!). Mostly though, my morning ritual is the same: Wake up, have coffee, get dressed in my warm clothes, harness my girl, hop in the car, pick a trail, walk in the forest, take photos, come home, write or edit. Together, each day, Cheyenne and I experience exquisite beauty, bonding, freedom, and unexpected discoveries.
Often, when on a trail, I feel myself immersed in an expansive relationship with nature, my inner self, the world at large; I experience that oneness and wholeness we yogis describe as samadhi,” a state of joyful calm, or even of rapture and beatitude, in which one fully maintains one’s mental alertness and acuity.” This is the gift, the state of wonder I discovered on the Joshua Tract trails in the arms of Mother Nature; this is the blessing of renewed belonging to a home and place I thought I had left. This is the immense gratitude I feel as I watch my sweet dog reclaim her safety and freedom and playfulness. Together, our spirits are nourished as we witness Mother Nature in all her splendor; our hope for the future of our planet is renewed as we traverse our unspoiled landscape; our souls are granted solace; we envision the oppression and wars of our troubled world being replaced by loving kindness and peace. Om Shanti! Namaste!
With gratitude to Joshua Trust
& Joshua’s Tract Walk Book
Peggy Dillon, Feb. 2022 Storrs, CT
