Broadcast: November 16, 2003

EARLY WINTER SNOW

     He was surprised to see the snow in the morning. When he had gone to bed the night before, the rain had drummed against the roof and lulled him to sleep. Sometime in the night it must have changed to snow because now, when he opened the cabin door, he was met with the rich smell of cold, wet snow upon a frozen forest floor.
     The forest was usually quiet but with the snow, it was absolutely silent, thick and gentle.
     He stood for a few seconds at the door almost tasting the air and trying hard to remember this very moment. Soon he would need to remember these details, but for now, all he had to do was experience them and soak them up and store them somewhere deep in his mind.
     He walked across the yard and found that the snow was only ankle deep in most places with a layer of wet slush below it. It wouldn't delay him later in the day when he began his journey unless things were worse down the mountain.
     But he didn't want to think about that. Not now. Not with this early winter snow spread out like a white quilt over the hills. He wanted to concentrate on the task at hand. He wanted to taste these moments and absorb them.
     The woodpile was covered with snow and ice and he had to pull out a few pieces from under the first layer of the neatly split logs. Under there they were still dry and fresh and smelling of pine trees. He loaded several pieces in his arms and scooped up a handful of kindling to get the fire started. He wouldn't be needing much of a fire in the old cook stove. Just enough to get through breakfast would be fine and then he would let the fire die out.
     As he pulled another piece from the pile, a small mouse ran along the edge of the firewood and jumped to the ground. He watched the mouse until it disappeared into the pile again. The missing piece of firewood revealed a mess of soft fur and sticks with lots of small droppings around it. The nest had several babies in it, but he didn't disturb it any farther because he knew if he touched the nest, the adult mouse would never return and the babies would all die. Besides, a wood pile is an excellent place for a nest and the mice had as much right to their peace and quiet as he did.
     Back inside the snug cabin, he placed the wood in the stove with the kindling at the bottom. He struck a match and watched as it easily flared up and then settled down to an even, yellow glow. Holding the lit match near the kindling was all that was needed. Before long the wood was burning and snapping, producing a bright flame and powerful heat inside the cook stove.
     In the cooler were four eggs and he decided to cook them all. That would make a bigger breakfast than usual but he probably wouldn’t have time for another meal until late in the day, with his traveling and all. Besides, the cold sharpened his appetite and there was something comforting about this last breakfast in his cabin.
     He placed the cast iron frying pan on the top of the cook stove and waited for it to warm up. A lump of lard scrapped on the frying pan slid across it, popping and spitting as it went until he broke the eggs, one by one, onto the pan.
     To the side of the black frying pan he grated some potatoes and cheese, salted them and then diced up a small chili pepper which he sprinkled over the potatoes. As soon as he stirred the mess, the smell exploded in the kitchen and he found that his hunger was sharp, eager and awake.
     On a back burner, he toasted the last two pieces of his bread while the rest of the breakfast cooked to a climax of sounds and smells. He was hungry now.
     Seated in front of a window, he devoured his meal while he watched the snow outside. Nothing changed in front of him but he knew the landscape, and his life, was about to become totally different.
     He glanced at the newspaper on the table and reread the headline once more. In bold, huge type, the headline read: WAR DECLARED.
     How far away it all seemed to him at this moment, breakfast finished and the silence of his cabin holding him like a soft, warm blanket.
     Pushing the newspaper aside, the man concentrated on the scene outside his window. He concentrated on the snow, on the dark trees and the contrast with the pure, white snow. This cabin was a place he knew so well, having built it from the logs on his own land. He came here from the city as often as possible to think, relax and watch the turn of the seasons. It would have made more sense to stay in the city this time, since he was leaving today, but he had to come here one last time. The snow, this early winter snow, was a gift for him to enjoy. The breakfast reminded him of why he made such an effort to travel so far up the mountain to this place.
     It was a sudden chill that pulled him back and reminded him of the passage of time. The fire in the cook stove had gone out and now the cabin was taking on the temperature of the outside air. It wasn’t objectionable, but it was merely a reminder of what he must do next.
     After the dishes were washed and put away, after he stripped the bed and put away the linens, after he checked all the windows to make sure they were closed, he walked through the small cabin one last time. It felt like he was saying good-bye to an old friend.
     Outside, he pulled the door firmly shut, not bothering to lock it. If someone wanted to get inside, he reasoned, a lock on a door wouldn’t make much difference in this remote location. Better, he thought, that he should secure the door but leave it unlocked to future possibilities. If someone traveled this far and desperately needed shelter, his cabin was available.
     His old pickup truck started without a problem and he let it warm up while he cleared the snow off the windshield. Before getting back into the truck, he looked around once more, not so much as to say good-bye, but to say hello to this early winter day and the snow and the trees and everything that made this spot, this place on the mountain, so important to him.
     Without looking back, he started his drive down the mountain, back towards the city.
     A few hours later, he entered a large building bustling with people who were all talking at once and looking confused and more than a little lost. The man paused to take in the scene.
     "Can I help you?" another man asked curtly. It was more of a command than a question.
     "I’m here to enlist," he said.
     "All right. A new solider, eh? Take these papers and have a seat over there with those other men. We’ll get to you when we can. You’ll be shipping out tomorrow for training and then we’ll find a spot for you. Any questions? Dismissed."
     In the noise and confusion of that huge room, the man could still close his eyes and see the early winter snow that had covered the silent ground just hours before.

The End