A few days before Christmas, we went out to the cabin so our little family could enjoy some together time. And, very importantly, to decorate the cabin for Christmas as a surprise to my parents after their long drive from Oklahoma.
Since the cabin is on ten forested acres, there were lots of trees with “extra” branches I could cut to use as decoration around the house. I could barely contain myself as we unpacked the van and the Jeep–lugging Christmas presents, boxes of lights and ribbons, bags of food, luggage, and other stuff we’d need for the next few days. I was yelling at everyone. I was the epitome of a grumpy Grinch.
After a throw-together lunch of grilled cheese, I felt better. Addi went down for a nap, the older two were zoned out in front of the TV. I slipped into my Uggs, zipped up my sleeping-bag-looking mammoth coat and headed outside with the big clippers.
It was glorious walking through untrodden snow and observing deer tracks as I hiked the back forest searching for trees whose branches were straight, full, and far enough back on the property that no one would be able to tell I had hacked off some tree limbs.
I was almost manic with excitement. I wanted to walk every direction all at once. I wanted more sets of eyes to look at all the trees and assess which one I could cut branches from. It was so quiet. So peaceful. My thoughts were racing so far ahead of me, I could hardly enjoy myself. I kept wondering if I might actually see a deer whose tracks I was crunching over. And I was glad I had the big clippers and lots of big trees around to climb just in case I did see a deer and in case it decided to charge me.
I wondered if I might get disoriented and lose my way. If I’d be able to remember how to get back to the cabin or be able to follow my own criss-crossing footprints.
My heart was pounding with excitement, anticipation, and the hard work of hiking through fresh show in heavy boots and a hefty coat. It’s been a long time since I’ve done any real cardio exercise, and I didn’t bring my cell phone out with me. If I collapsed in the snow would anyone ever find me? Scarily, I didn’t really care. I hated being bombarded with the thought of collapsing and dying, but strangely I was ambivalent toward that thought because if it were to happen, it would be in a beautiful setting in a rare moment of ephemera where I found myself completely happy and content. Strange, these thoughts, huh?
When I got a handle on my ruminations, I focused and found a tree and started clipping. I made a pile of branches all facing the same direction–as I would have to drag them all back to the cabin.
The smell was amazing. Yankee Candle is good, but you can’t replicate the scent of fresh-cut pine boughs in a snowy setting. There was sap on my gloves, and the thought of having to get it out didn’t phase me in the least! My only rush was in excitement to get the branches back so we could start decorating and the promise of a hot cup of Starbucks Christmas blend back at the ranch.
When I stumbled up the steps to the back door of the cabin, my camera-wielding husband stuck the photo-taker out the door and snapped this picture. I think he got a kick out of my zeal for this project.
After he looked at this shot on his computer, he said, “that’s actually a pretty good picture of you”. To which I replied, “that’s because I was happy.”
And I was.
As I crunched through the snow being bombarded by morbid and negative intrusive thoughts seeking to ruin my solitary outing, my redemption came in the overpowering feelings of excitement, joy, contentment, purpose, revelry in nature and beauty, and the knowledge that I am being sustained and healed with each passing day. Else I wouldn’t be feeling and experiencing the “this is the me I know and remember. The girl who tromps through the woods cutting down branches to stick in a pair of cowboy boots because it’ll make her mom laugh and clipping boughs to lay across the mantel because that’s what she did growing up and she knew her dad would be touched by her remembering and re-creating it.”
That tundra trek depicts my hope. I know the “real me” is still in there somewhere. Every now and then I pop up. PPD takes a back seat and doesn’t drive me down. I live life, I breathe, I feel things.
I want to pass this hope on to you. That’s why I sit here and write. Trust me, you DO get better and better. There are glimmers of who you are, who you were, and who you will be again. And you will get better. And I will get better. You’re not stuck in the woods forever. Somewhere along the way instead of being cold, dark and lonely, the scenery changes to beautiful, refreshing, quiet and calm, exhilarating and life-giving instead of just the opposite.
Let me know when you turn your corner. When the color starts creeping back into your landscape. I’ll celebrate with you. I’ll probably cry for and with you. And I’ll revel in the tears that for so long just would not come.
Wow! This is beautiful! Thanks for sharing this. I was captivated. I’m glad you had such a beautiful moment.
I loved this entry…it was special to hear about your excursion of which we blessedly reaped the rewards! Thank-you for such a special surprise with greens and treasures tucked in various corners, counters, niches, mantel, etc. I LOVED the boughs in the boots – great tradition! Love you gal…