It warms me many times over...

With the sun out and some warmer temperatures on tap for the day, we were off for a walk with a mission.

It's that time of year when we set off on our adventures with wood bag in hand with kindling in mind.



With foresight I left the fallen branches from the early fall storms and now they are a harvest to start the winter fires at home.

The dogs were in high spirits after a week of frigid winds which kept us all indoors. They dashed through the woods while I lingered to snap photos and crack branches into pieces to stow in my bag.

The forest was filled with the sound of woodpeckers searching for the grubs who have buried themselves in the trees.

In the distance are gunshots marking the opening day of deer hunting, but I think our hunting is of a more wholesome kind.

I have never let the hunters drive me from my outdoor pursuits. It is always a counterpoint to my experience in the forest. They boast of their deadly harvest...but I have harvested things all year long from the forest that fill the soul and not the stomach or ego.

I have never had to open a beer to enjoy it, or been driven to sit in groups to savor it.

Just me and dogs forever in tune with the seasons.

So we enjoy the crunch of the forest, our branch gathering clearing the trail as we go.

Its an endless harvest with no season.

Old man willow has dropped his leaves at last. He is so ancient I cannot even begin to imagine at what point in time he established himself beside the lake. His leaves lay in reams on the water.

The water in the lake has that odd thickened quality. The river has ice on it already, so I imagine the lake is getting ready to begin spinning its own ice soon.

Domino snorts through the leaves checking every nook and cranny for mice or shrews...on his own hunting venture. He reluctantly obeys my occasional "leave its" as we climb.

The higher we climb the more the wind hits us but we are all warmed by the climb itself.

The first rays of the setting sun igniting bits and pieces of the climb.

Domino who has spent many a hour in front of a roaring fire or bundled under a blanket, relishes the chilly air.

He and Charm are zigzagging flashes of black and white along all the offshoot trails.

We reach the top in the best of the day's light.

And spend some time in the miniature meadows, navigating fallen branches as we go.

The joy of just being out outweighs the wind nipping at ears.

We stayed longer than I intended and with some reluctance dogs were recalled for the hike back.

The sun plunging quickly these days.

We retrieved our wood bag and headed back to feed the trout who were waiting patiently.

I loaded the car with as much firewood as it would hold and my bag filled with sticks and off we went to enjoy the fruits of our harvest.

Domino rested his head on my leg while I coaxed our kindling into a fire. He sighed in such contentment that it made me think of all those centuries that people have performed this task...building a fire while the dog lays by...sort of a primordial satisfaction as the first crackling begins. The best sort of fires are the kind you make from scratch. They warm you many times over.