Don’t fence me in

It’s not that I hate winter. It’s just a season needing to be reckoned with, tamed when it gets unruly.

I know it’s not here yet, but in the northern plains it makes early visits as it’s doing this weekend in the Dakotas. They’re expecting up to a foot.

So besides stocking up on chili mixings, and throwing my winter survival kit back in the trunk next to the flip flops, I’ve been thinking about the care and feeding of my winter soul.

The key for me is not feeling cooped up, fenced in. Sure, I can play in fresh fallen snow in the sunshine, but I’m starting my game plan for the inevitable days of below zero weather, ice storms, and blizzards.

I’m stocking up now on unread books of poetry and prose for my sagging bookshelves, and old classical CDs for my player.

I’ve got my sketch pad handy with my new charcoal pencil, right next to the window overlooking the tall pines.

My birch bark journal and pen are ready too, on the table next to the old chair and ottoman in the living room.

I should have a new camera soon. I’ll carefully plan my shots from the inside, looking out my frost trimmed windows. Then I’ll bundle up, running fast out the back door to snap pics so my arthritic fingers don’t freeze. That ought to work.

Sounds like I’m ready, except for one more thing. I need to stock up on rawhides for the dogs.

Their old souls will need some winter nurturing, too.