Snow has finally (blessedly) settled on the region. A delicate white sheet has been draped by Mother Nature across Franklin County’s rolling hills, covering its many quaint farm houses, adorning its proud red barns and nearly hiding split-rail fences that separate farm fields from South Deerfield to Charlemont.
Observant trekkers will notice that the woods have become quieter than midnight and the trees occasionally shake snow from their branches as if shifting peacefully in their sleep. Below, the snow-covered forest floor appears devoid of human footprints; the ponds and lakes are contentedly still.
I report this as one who recently returned from that magical place — nature — recharged, re-energized and rejuvenated to take on the stressful busyness of everyday life. On a recent endeavor deep into the heart of a local state forest, I encountered a frozen brook that captured my imagination and held my attention for at least an hour, maybe more.
For the most part, it was covered by thick sections of ice. But occasionally, when the brook was joined by underground streams and at particularly fast-moving sections, the water was exposed to the frigid elements, appearing as a black line cutting through the white void of snow.
On both sides, a steep embankment funneled the brook deeper into the woods.
For a short time, I stopped at one of these open-water sections and examined its intricacies with fascination. Layers of ice could be seen, in descending order, stepping down to the water’s surface like a cutaway of a building’s interior. Around the circumference of the hole, ice closed around the rushing black water like terrible jaws inset with crystal teeth. A closer look revealed refracted and reflected light sparkling off these jagged edges magnificently. It was at once an image of terror and beauty — a battle of the elements, the cold air pitted against the rushing water.
A short ways down the brook, the ice seemed to have won — almost, but not quite. Although the water’s surface was completely covered here, I could hear the distinct gurgle of water still passing below. I was reminded that, in a few short months, that gurgling brook will turn into an imposing force. The ice will retreat; the snow will disappear; the brook will overflow its banks with the spring melt.
Meanwhile, you can find me wandering through a world of magic that can only be found in the dead of winter deep in New England’s beautiful woods.