Taking the early morning air

I love the early morning air. I love the cold crisp chill on my cheeks. So, here it is the 27th of November, and this morning the air is frozen. Ok…its not really THAT cold… the temperature is about 30 degrees, but there is a fairly steady breeze and it chills the extremities.

I decided that I would go out for a walk this morning, before the family woke, before the mental clutter of the day’s chores began… before coffee. Well, maybe not coffee. I’ve been inside so much lately, and by nature I am really an outside person, and I just wanted to feel it… the outside. It’s hard to explain.  The quiet, the solitude, the energized yet tranquil mind at the end of an early jaunt.

So I put on my boots, my Carhart canvas jacket and my leather ivy cap, open the door, and I take that first step out of the the warm, cozy den  into “The outside” I begin my stroll by heading down the driveway and taking a right down the hill, toward Mame & Steve’s. I wanted to start the walk going down hill, to break into the exercise slowly, and then finish up with a hearty uphill blast. So peaceful at the beginning. No sounds, except for the steady whisper of the winds in the pines and the leafless oak branches. An occasional chickadee peeps as I walk along the gravel road and a blue jay is calling from someone's garden compost pile, but other than that… just the sound of the wind and my feet crunching on the gravel. At this point, even my mind is quiet, just footsteps and air, the breeze and breath.

The vistas on my road are beautiful. I really do live in a little corner of heaven. I want some pictures to share with everyone and I stop occasionally to take a shot. My photographer is still cuddled warmly in her bed, and my photographic expertise is limited to a phone camera, so these photos are mine, and just don't do it justice.

Down at the village of Poocham I take a right onto Crossroad. The village of Poocham is a funny thing. Google maps says that’s where I live, and it places the location dot at the intersection of Crossroad and Poocham Road. Historically, I believe there was a blacksmith shop here, maybe another shop, a big farm, a tavern and school just up the hill. The big red farmhouse is still there, and until recently, the 1800’s tavern was still a bed and breakfast, though now it is a residence.

The old, one room school house is having some troubles maintaining structural integrity. We peek in every once in a while, disturbing the mice. The roof has “issues”. The fields around the “village” are now the domain of horses, a large flock of sheep, a few sheepdogs and a vineyard. So… maybe it still counts as a village… it is a landing spot, I guess.

I meet Mame and Steve and Laurel out for a walk on Crossroad, and we stop and chat. This breaks the mental silence of the morning I had been experiencing so far, but it opens a new energy. I’m not a big talker, I guess, but we chat for a while. There are maybe a dozen houses within a mile of mine on the road, and all the neighbors know each other… which is to say, we’ve all at least met each other, and really know each others dogs, trucks and landscaping.  We talk about Thanksgiving and the weather. Then… onward.

I round the corner on Butterfield Hill Road and push on over the last down hill section past the Cemetery. Yes, our village does have a cemetery, too, and although most of its inhabitants moved in around the mid 1800’s, there are a few newcomers every now and again. There is a big stone crypt with a wooded plank door that is always ajar, and the kids like to peek in and scare themselves… Zombies, vampires and ghouls might inhabit this place… you can feel the energy of long dead souls, but I believe they are friendly and wish only to say hello to the newest neighbors.

At the bottom of the hill, I turn left and begin my ascent up Poocham Road, back towards my house. Now the energy is different. My blood is pumping, my thighs are twitching with the effort to keep the fast pace up hill, and my breathing deepens. The cold on my cheeks is now accented by the warm flush in my blood, and I can really feel the chill and the exhilaration. My mind has taken on a different mood, too. The peaceful tranquility has lapsed into something more active, an energized awareness. Although the world hasn’t changed around me, the quiet tranquility of my surroundings now feels more alive, and I begin to contemplate what I might accomplish today.

The walk up hill feels faster, but my watch tells me different. It takes almost twice as long to get home as it did to reach the cemetery. I stop at my driveway, just to take a minute to look at MY house. Yes, I do live in a beautiful place. Poocham Road… Westmoreland… Cheshire County… New Hampshire… New England… I live in the middle of a place that is a destination… people come to visit and have a taste of what I KNOW everyday. I feel so lucky to live here.

As I open the door, the heat from the fire simmering in the woodstove blasts my face and the smell of coffee fills my head. I have emerged from the quiet side, and I’m ready to start my day… and yet the house still sleeps. The dogs manage to roll an eye at me as they lounge in front of the stove, but the cat senses my destination and immediately launches into my spot in the chair. We battle for this spot constantly.

So here I sit, expunging my mind from the thoughts and feelings of the morning, while the fat, chair-hog cat slowly engulfs my shoulders and neck with glacial like persistence. I’d really like to sit and have one more cup of coffee, but to get a new cup, I’ll lose the chair.

Oh well, it’s time to get up and load the truck for the dump, so I submit to her persistent will. I’m ready for the day, now, anyway.