I have nothing pithy to say today for writing class. No funny or interesting stories are knocking on my brain wanting to be relayed on the page, skewed through my point of view. I have the time. I have the energy. I haven't the creative push this afternoon. I sit in a recliner, staring at a Kindle Fire screen, feet up after a long morning of running errands. I need to get finalized year-end figures to the accountant yet today. I need to process three more cabin deposit checks. There are a million tasks to do in my home office. *sigh*
The fountain plashes in the corner, the whoosh of the furnace just kicked on, and a wild turkey suddenly flutters up and thuds onto the bird feeder, right outside the dining room. I have a clear view out the pane from this angle. It cackles in curiosity, settles its wings and pecks through the snow for non-existent sunflower seeds.
I hear a semi-truck crossing the lake a mile away, slightly off the highway and onto the rumble strip, the grumbling reverberation vibrating the window next to me, the loudest sound in this rural Minnesota setting.
The snows keep coming, week after week. Yesterday's fluff resembled pillow fight residue. The crystalized particles were so big, each individual with feathered veins in stark contrast to the flake next to it, laying together as if they didn't want to sink into each other to make a pile. Each one shouted, "look at me, I am the pretty one! I am the most unique! I am not to be mistaken for the flakey white guy to my left."
It was -5 below zero this morning when we left for eye doctor appointments. The truck started fine and the automatic window didn't freeze up when we dropped bills off at the drive-by mail container. My husband mentioned we might need to start raking down snow layers on a couple of cabins, at least the one with shallow pitched roofs. We read in the newspaper on Monday that a shed collapsed from snow weight in Nevis, five miles away.
Yesterday I slogged through 3-foot drifts to Cabin #15 and Cabin #18 to collect rocker cushions (which I dropped off today to get re-upholstered.) I almost didn't make it to #18. I fell several times. Putting a hand down to push my body up didn't help much when the appendage kept embedding down through another layer of snow. Mostly it was a struggle pulling whichever leg was behind high enough to move it up, out and forward a step. It was a bit of a workout. I enjoyed it immensely. The muffled silence of a walk at the resort in winter is wondrously peaceful.
I recalled strolling the same path last summer. Barefoot, picking my way through the hard-packed dirt drive, holding up a long handmade skirt in one hand to stride more quickly, I heard shrieks and splashes on the beach to my right. Clinks of glass, murmuring voices and heavy grill covers grating closed sounded to my left. It was supper time and I was on my way to give a phone message to a guest in Cabin #12. A loon wailed. A pileated woodpecker jack-hammered a metal band on a light pole just ahead. Ahhhh.
No matter the season, resort life is good.
