Untitled by Lyndell Oldfield
She drained the last of the now cold tea from her mug and pushed herself away from the screen. Standing and stretching she released some of the tension and strain from working in her cramped quarters. She stood for a time, just looking out the window.
Deep blue shadows spread across the hard snowy surface of the lake. The dark winter green of conifers lined the shore. What a good idea it had seemed a few days ago, to leave the city, to move to the cottage, to take refuge from the tumbled world. When she’d first conceived of the idea she’d lost no time in contacting the summer neighbour (that’s how she always thought of him) and arranged to have the drive plowed, the water turned on and a load of wood delivered.
All the way there she’d imagined how cozy she would make things, how homey it would be with wooly throws added to the couch, a crackling fire, a glass of wine and a good book. Of course she’d have to work most days, but that could all be done online.
When she arrived she drove up between freshly plowed snowbanks in the greyness of the day, hauled everything she’d brought inside, and raised the thermostat to 28 C. to take the damp and cold out as quickly as possible. She paused to look around at the light coloured walls and worn furnishings, so familiar, yet now feeling empty. Bereft of the summer sounds of extended family, kids and dogs dashing in and out, screen door slamming, squeals of laughter, parental admonitions to “stay safe”, “mind the little ones”, the cottage felt so very different. The kitchen seemed a bit bare and drab, the floors were definitely cold. In fact, nothing felt like she’d imagined, not at all.
Nevertheless, the next day she had driven into the village, picked up extra groceries, a pack of emergency candles (because that was something you were supposed to have on hand, wasn’t it?) and a couple of bird feeders with bags of seed. As she hung the bird feeders somewhat awkwardly from the only branches she could reach, she’d had the feeling that the house, the yard, the snowy lake with its heavy rim of trees were all a bit indifferent, as though she was nothing more than an interruption of their winter slumber. Perhaps they were right, and her place here was only in the summer with the loons and the herons and the ever present mosquitoes., Maybe there was no place for her here among the neatly tarped lawn furniture, the BBQ piled high with snow over its cover, the dock nearly invisible under its white mantle. What on earth had she been thinking?
By three days later she’d developed something of a routine, rising, working on her laptop, returning emails and calls, having a sandwich for lunch while indulging in the thick novel she’d brought, working a bit longer, making dinner, and so on. Since yesterday she’d noticed that her bird feeds had been found. A couple chickadees were first, then a bold Blue Jay. this afternoon a red squirrel warned everyone away from atop the big spruce.
She stepped into her Kamiks and pulled on her fleecy plaid coat, and stepped out with her plastic bucket of bird seed to refill the feeders. Drawing the fresh damp tinged air into her lungs she smiled Hello to the blue jay that had immediately swooped to a close branch. Within seconds chickadees and nuthatches appeared and the red squirrel leaped from branch to branch chattering. She smiled again, thinking that her “pop up cafe” had evidently become an overnight sensation!
After some minutes of watching her patrons scramble to fill themselves as rapidly as possible she stepped back indoors to retrieve her hat and mittens. The fresh air lifted her as her boots scuffed through the snow. As she neared the lakeshore the sun had slipped partway behind the hills., golden and orange, leaving the soft blue and puffy clouds of the overhead sky. The lake stretched out before her, undulating shadows of blue and ridges of pure gold painted across its snowy canvas. How in the world had she lived so long without this spectacle of sunshine, dancing snow crystals and shadows? At this moment it seemed to be one of the only things worth living for! It filled her up as she trudged across the uneven surface.
As she was about to turn back she caught a bright movement ahead. Squinting into the rays of the late afternoon sun she stopped, spellbound, as a fox leapt into the air, pouncing in deadly intent on his hoped for supper. His orange coat gleamed in the golden light. She was in awe as she noted the black of his fine legs and and sharp nose, as well as the white of his chest and tip of his tail.. She marveled at the sheer beauty and grace of this creature. Then as quickly as he’d appeared he trotted off, never seeming to have noticed her at all.
Heart glowing she made her way back to the house. Inside, the last rays of the sun cast a warm glow onto the walls. The fire crackled. From the crock pot a wonderful aroma arose. From outside the friendly chatter of the chickadees welcomed her back.
She smiled a deep smile of contentment.