September snow and a picture

Today, Tues, we went cutting again. We're cutting in some areas where there are already meadows formed. We're improving the meadows for the elk herds in the area. The grass is about thigh high and soaked from so much rain. The air is heavy with the smell of "the woods." We hike through rain-rutted roads. When we stop for a moment, we get cold from our soaked sweatshirts. If we weren't so busy working, we might enjoy the scene.

We are on 10 hour days so we came on at 7 a.m. By 10 'o clock it was snowing on us. I always love that first snow. I never seem to have anyone around me to share it with.

Last year in Kansas, we got the forecast for snow and I stayed up waiting for it. At 3:45 AM I called my buddy across campus. He was "less than thrilled," but he understood me; I guess that's why he and his sister call me their bro. I was really excited and then as soon as I got off the phone, I zonked out hard. Just to know some things, any type of things, is really assuring to me. I love the feeling of knowing something is for sure, written in stone, concrete, positive.

Today, September 22, 2004, when I saw the snow, I stopped stacking a burnpile. I pulled out some water and took the whole magic moment in. I was soaked from rain, cold and miserable. I was depressed from cutting live trees again. But in that moment, just like my sunset everyday, I was taken back to being a child.

A child will try to draw a sunset, a snowfall, a tree, the face of a loved one; it may not always look the same as the real thing to whatever grownup is looking at the picture.

On the other hand, a grownup who draws may spend hours drawing the same sunset, snowfall, tree, or face of a loved one. The picture may come out "looking" the same as a photograph.

They (grownups) miss the whole point. They never share the true picture. They have spent so much time "drawing" the picture that they forget the feeling.

A child's picture isn't that great, and I believe sometimes it is that way because they just want to get it drawn, done and over with so quickly, so that they can run and show someone and "talk" about what they saw. That child isn't drawing the picture, they're "sharing" the moment that they experienced. That is true humility. The five-year-old comes out in me so often. I like to think that the five-year-old voice in all of us is the one in which we truly converse with each other.

("I always love that first snow. I never seem to have anyone around me to share it with.") I guess I'm sharing with you what went through my mind when the first snow of this year fell at 10 this morning, and I didn't even have to draw a terrible picture to do it.