ypsi~dixit

Ypsidixit and friend entered the trail system by the cabin on the north side of St. Joe's. We crept carefully down the steep trail to the trail system lining the river and set out. Ypsidixit's observant friend noticed a bowhunter's seat high in a tree. There were three pegs leading up to the bowstand, deeply embedded in the tree and surrounded by years' worth of whorled wood. We speculated that the erstwhile hunter had used a block and tackle to hoist himself up there. We continued west along the trail, admiring the ice-rimmed river.

The paths offered many scenes of frozen beauty, like this tree-ridge.

Y. and friend spent many hours in the woods, yet the low sun seemed to hardly move. It was as if we were in Iceland, with a tiny day of two hours of sun. The weak, low sun glowed through the trees like a soft pearl.

Y's perspicacious friend noted an old fridge across a slough. After venturing onto the slough and hearing ice crack, we gingerly crossed over a log-bridge, scooting carefully across, and examined the fridge. It seemed to be a 1930s icebox, dumped here along with some old barrels and fencing. The chrome hinge on the old icebox gleamed bright when we wiped off the snow.

Several ancient trees in this wilderness seemed to be original trees, like this old grandpappy twin tree. Y. stood in the crotch of the tree, leaned against the bark, and looked up, remembering the treehouse of her childhood.

Y. and friend ventured across frozen snow-covered mud to one of the islands west of the cabin. We surveyed the river. Y. noted these twined vines, which seemed like a symbol of the twined fates of her and her friend on this icy day.

Y. and friend backtracked and traveled east out to Desolation Meadow, where the train tracks are. Here, in a quiet grove tracked with double-toed deer-tracks, we spread out a plasticized tablecloth (to eliminate wetness) and had a deepwoods polar picnic. We enjoyed a modest yet Dionysian feast of cheese sandwich, home-made chicken soup, and wine. The occasional wind-gust blew floating stray flakes over us. Toasty in thermal underwear, we sat on the dry tablecloth and quietly drank in the glittery, austere white beauty around us. Y. felt deeply grateful to be lost in the woods, drinking wine, with her friend. It was a frozen Eden.

Best of all, Y. and friend got to see the train in Desolation Meadow! We heard it coming and rushed, floundering through the deep snow, to the tracks. At trackside, we wondered if alert train engineers would phone in the anomaly of two photographers attentively photographing the train. High swirls of snow whirled behind the departing train.

Y. and friend then melted back into the woods, following the deer-track, each with a salvaged walking-stick, and wandered back into the frozen wilderness. It was a day of icy beauty, careful trail-negotiating, and laughter over a delicious mug of piping hot thermosed chicken soup in the most isolated. wild, and beautiful spot in Washtenaw County. Ypsidixit is humbly grateful for this beautiful, snow-sparkly memory made possible by her considerate, sweet, and hardy snow-trompin' friend.