”Dad, where are we going?” Ian asked on the last Saturday in January.
“We’re going to read the book of winter,” I said. “Do you remember the campout that the Boys Scouts took us on last November? Instead of just saying ‘Thank you for the campout,’ we’re taking them for a winter hike in the arboretum.”
I had spoken with the arboretum staff, and they had graciously cleared the snow from the shelter house where we cooked hot dogs before the hike and heated water while we were hiking for hot chocolate on our return. The Cub Scouts, getting ready to cross over into Boy Scouting next month, loved the idea and we couldn’t have asked for a better day. Although snow still covered the ground, the calm winds, clear skies and temperatures in the upper 20s were perfect for a winter hike.
“Each fresh snow is like a clean, white page,” I told the boys on our hike that looked like we were walking through a painting. “If you know how to look, you can read what it says.” We stopped at some trodden snow, and I pointed out deer tracks. We paused for a snack halfway through the hike and I showed them bird tracks. We crossed a game trail and I showed them how to identify recent bobcat tracks, still fresh and sharp in the snow. We climbed down to a gravel bar in frozen Wolf Creek where I showed them broken ice, a watering hole for a deer.
The boys drank hot chocolate and ate cookies at the end of the hike, but when we got home, Ian didn’t come inside. I looked out our kitchen window and saw him bending over in the back yard, looking at the snow, reading the book of winter.
William R. Bartlett lives in Belton with his family.