John Pepin

By JOHN PEPIN

Michigan Department of Natural Resources

“And the birds up on the wires and the telegraph poles; they can always fly away from this rain and this cold; you can hear them singing out their telegraph code; all the way down the Telegraph Road.” — Mark Knopfler

The wind kicks up snow dust and swirls it around my head as I walk.

I push my hands down in my pockets a little farther, which brings the collar of my jacket up tighter around the back and sides of my neck.

I feel like I could keep walking today until I run out of road.

I think the best direction to go would be south, where I would eventually walk out of this wintry landscape — like an ice-covered Norseman dramatically appearing on warmer and unfamiliar city streets with a helmet, sword and shield.

Any other direction would bring me more of the same; mainly snow, ice and cold.

The snow is deep here today for mid-January.

It’s no wonder my walking tracks on this old country road are being put down among countless others left there by deer, moose and other creatures looking to conserve valuable energy.

They all opt for paths of least resistance wherever they can find them, just like people.

Most of the creeks and streams appear now only as a meandering dipped line or other depression in the snow. For weeks, the sounds of the talking brooks have been silenced by that deepening snowy cover.

Snow and ice blanket the inland lakes, too, attracting cold and biting winds, giving them a wide-open place to race and dance, twist and twirl.

If you get in their way, they’ll put a blush and paste across your cheeks in no time. They’ll also make quick work of any inadequate winter clothing.

Back in town, on the level, the snow is already over the spikes at the top of the wrought-iron fence around the cemetery. This must make it a lot easier for ghosts to get lost when they are gliding around the grounds of that hallowed resting place.

As is often the case in the wintertime, birds are the most active denizens of the forests on my walk today. They are usually detected by the sounds of their calls, or the tapping sounds they make on tree trunks and branches.

There have been chickadees, grosbeaks, nuthatches, blue jays, crows and woodpeckers out there off to either side of the road or flying overhead as I walk.

On top of the deep snow, between the bushes and trees, there are well-worn paths made by rabbits and hares. I saw a couple of snowshoe hares today, sitting motionless, probably hearing me walk, hoping I’ll pass by without seeing them.

They have all changed from their summer brown to winter white coats. They do blend into the scene quite well.

I lean on a steel bridge rail, looking across the sweeping landscape in front of me.

The scene, which features a largely open and snow-covered floodplain contrasted by tremendous white pines standing tall on the surrounding hillsides, triggers the start of a series of contemplations.

First, I imagine what it might be like to be a bald eagle floating around in those icy blue skies, high above me and everything else. I saw an adult bald eagle a couple days ago flying low over the trees, gliding with wings outstretched, in my backyard.

Flying must be an exquisite type of freedom for birds, one where they can glide with the currents on a never-ending river of wind or to possess the ability to flap their wings and fly away — near or far.

Of course, just because birds can fly doesn’t mean they can soar above the reach of humankind, with its chemically poisoned air and waters, tainted fish, diminishing rainforests, damning technology, and the choking, belching stench of wars, hatred and insatiable greed.

There are a couple of places here where the power of the river has broken away the snow and ice to reveal a staircase of rapids — bubbling and churning its root beer-colored waters downstream toward a waiting plunge pool.

The open and flowing water attracts a range of animals as evidenced by the multitude of tracks in the snow at the water’s edge.

As I start walking again, I begin to think about heritage, legacy and what do I have of value that I could pass down to my kids and grandkids.

My greatest wish is that it would be the love and appreciation of nature, which would give them a way to find true peace, to breathe, to heal and to experience silence, grandeur and perspectives that I haven’t found anywhere else.

Nature is a patient and continuous teacher to those who seek to find truth, beauty, resilience and an understanding of the workings of the world beyond the surface level.

Each of her inhabitants — from lightning bugs and bullfrogs to whip-poor-wills and killer whales — all have stories to tell and truths to demonstrate. The same is true for the plants and the trees and even the rocks.

Nature is an endless resource for good, for learning, for truth and deliverance.

My boys caught my bug for trout fishing, and they are still doing it today. Many years ago, when they were young, I taught them how to tie a hook to a fishing line and catch, clean and cook trout.

We had some good times at a cabin in the woods, cooking over an open fire and getting out for trout. We drove the old dirt backroads, hiked down creeks and streams and sat and talked a lot.

Those experiences will help keep them engaged with nature at a level that will introduce them to other things. The more they want to know, the more nature will be there to teach.

My granddaughter is already interested in animals. She has a bird club with some of her young classmates. They collect and attempt to identify bird feathers. My grandson is very adventurous and no doubt will soon be following his dad and uncle out fishing.

I plan to pass down fishing rods and tackle to my kids and grandkids, some of which was passed down to me and my brother from my dad. I’ve got all kinds of other outdoor gear, too, that they might be able to use.

Of course, I’ve got shelves and shelves of books that I could have sent to them, as part of an inheritance, but I am not sure whether they would like or want them. Many of the titles are admittedly esoteric and involve various studies of flora and fauna, geomorphology, history and other pursuits.

No matter what things I could send them in a material sense, it all seems inadequate somehow. I think the obvious answer to the question of how to instill a greater sense of the importance of nature would be to spend more time in nature with them.

The same is true for my brother, who is four years younger than me. I’d like to share what I know and learn from them, too.

That will be one of my best hopes for the days remaining ahead.

A handful of crows swoops across the road up ahead of me. They are loudly cawing as they chase each other, dipping and diving.

The sunshine lights up the jack pines on the south side of the road, bleaching the color of their needles from green to yellow.

Way back at the base of the hills, I can see a small cabin.

It looks like nobody is there. No smoke from the chimney, no visible movement, no evidence that the snow has been shoveled away from the front door.

I guess the mice must be standing guard as they help themselves to a stale box of saltine crackers or some old cookies left out on the countertop from November or last summer.

I start to feel like my heart is dragging, like my boots are filled with water and it’s getting hard to lift them. There’s a faint tightening in my chest and my mouth tastes like metal.

I think about turning back, but I don’t.

Instead, I sit down at the base of a pine tree and look up to its highest branches.

I don’t hear anything except my heart beating. The blue sky above is swirled with icy cirrus clouds, soft and wispy.

I take deep breaths of the fresh cold air. It’s as satisfying as drinking a cold glass of chilled water on a hot summer day.

I close my eyes and feel the rhythm of the world.

A few minutes later, I’m on the move again, heading back down the road the way I came. The wind whispers and mumbles as I walk across the open floodplain.

I think it said my name.

Outdoors North is a weekly column produced by the Michigan Department of Natural Resources on a wide range of topics important to those who enjoy and appreciate Michigan’s world-class natural resources of the Upper Peninsula.