Solstice, Solitude, and Shelter

12 21 2019

An engine of an airplane, somewhere in the distance, chugged and churned away.  Burning refined petroleum inside of cylinders that cranked a shaft, to spin a propeller, to force air to lift the wings, to keep it all moving, to prevent a crash.  The sun crept lower in the sky, wisps of gray blue clouds obscured the burning orb, and softened the rays of light before they reached my eyes.  And there I sat, besides last years cattails and dried reeds, that rimmed the wetland that stretched out around me.  A kettle lake likely, before it filled in with organic matter that found its way into the depression, that was pressed into the earth by a remnant of a towering glacier, that passed that way some 13,000 years ago or more.

I took a slower form of transportation as well to reach the place, my white magnesium snowshoes strapped to my boots, and powered by my muscles, burning the calories, released from the leftover macaroni and cheese, and yogurt and canned peaches, I ate for breakfast.   The human powered transporter carried a backpack packed with a bag of pine wood shavings, a few hand tools, some screws, a drill, and a few scraps of wood.  In my hand I carried a small step ladder.  My goal was to take advantage of the frozen ice and snow to access four wood duck houses in need of cleaning and minor repairs.  The houses had been installed by the previous owner of the place that had become part of Straight Lake State Park.  And then maybe with some luck in the spring, the drakes would stake their claims and find a hen, who would hatch a clutch of ducklings, that might paddle around on the open waters of these headwaters of the Trade River. 

Doing some maintenance on the duck houses seemed like a great excuse to wander through the woods and venture around the swamp on an above freezing solstice afternoon.  In the first house, when I opened the hatch, I was surprised to see a number of duck eggs tucked into the old grasses that lined the bottom of the box. The eggs felt like billiard balls in their solidified state, with the formerly white cue ball colored shells then stained with brown streaks and splotches from the organic matter formed from the decaying marsh vegetation mixed with moisture. I felt disrespectful of the former carriers of life as I haphazardly tossed the eggs and nest material to the ground six feet below, but was also amazed to see the eggs remain intact when they hit the snow-covered ground.  When I finished cleaning out the nest, I gathered up the scattered eggs and placed them in a snow nest where I counted a total of fourteen of the eggs.  I refilled the nest box with new wood shavings, closed the access hatch and sealed it with screws, and left the old eggs in the snow nest at the base of the box.

The other three houses were egg free, although there where egg chips scattered among the old wood chips that filled the other three houses.  I assume the egg chips were the remnants of successful hatchings.  I did some splicing repairs to two of the houses whose old cedar boards had split in two on the sides where there were cleaning hatches. And on the final house, I saw a shadow out of the corner of my eye that jumped from the top of the house into the snow three feet below as I opened the hatch and began cleaning out the old wood chips.  At first, I wasn’t sure if the shadow was real or what caused it, but then noticed a line that looked like critters tail track leading into the small escape hole in the snow.  From that I concluded it must have been a mouse shadow exclaiming its disgust with my intrusion. 

And with my tasks completed and thoughts jotted down, I sat on my ladder and looked over the place I had spent passing some time.  The cold began to find its way to the tips of my toes, and my nose began to drip.  It was difficult to get up and leave the place of solitude, where the deer trails crisscrossed the snow-covered ice, and the dropping sun painted the surroundings with an orange-brown hue.  But then another plane flew overhead, the engine churning out more exhaust and noise, breaking the silence, and clarified that it was time to return to my own shelter, and wait for the days to once again get longer, while I figured out what to do with myself.