From the rainy northeast. Vermont's gorgeous snowfall did not extend south to our little town, and last night, we got more rain (on top of a deluge last week), which means that our sledding hill is now just a slipping hill, and the whole world is patchy and indecisive.
Yesterday, my friend and I took a walk through her woods--they own acres and acres of forest along a ridge in southwestern VT--first visiting an old family gravesite (not her family's--the family who presumably farmed their land in the 19th century. Five graves, only two marked with names, the rest just with initials. One is a child, not even three years old. I wondered, looking at them, if those families thought that their ancestors would always be working this piece of the world, so no names were necessary? Or could they only afford to pay for three letters on the tiny stones?
After the gravesite, we followed fresh deer tracks as we wandered across a new bridge, along the top of the hillside and then down through great tracts of tall evergreens. Deer had been everywhere, big ones, along with fox and coyote. We heard from a neighbor here this week that he photographed bear tracks in his snow, so I've been seeking bear everywhere. So far, they remain in the realm of the imaginary, but I'll keep you posted.