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Thanksgiving dawned with an ice-box stillness in the woods.
Two days of soaking rain followed by a 20-degree overnight low had left things stunned, frozen, waiting for warmth to recover.
I bundled up in layers topped by an old leather jacket and a blaze-orange cap to ward off deer hunters. I set off on this early walk in anticipation of the big feed to come in the afternoon. My hike was not precisely over the river and through the woods, but close enough for the holiday theme.
Did I mention how quiet it was? In spots, the ground had freeze-dried like packed coffee grounds. Brown leaves were stuck together, fringed with frost. Puddles were little ice rinks.
The ground needed all this water after four dry months. The deep freezes of late November had put a sleeping cap on the season: No more worries, if you're venturing out, about pesky bugs or slithering snakes. They were out for the duration.
The week before, while digging in some rocky earth, I uncovered a frog that appeared dazed and confused. And then another, smaller frog near the same little burrow. They eventually moved on after my pick-ax intrusion.
The birds were fluttering throughout the woods in great numbers that day, scratching all about for food, foreshadowing the cold front to come.
And now it was Thanksgiving, our great American holiday, when we can take stock and take comfort in all the good that surrounds us.
I did not, in case you're wondering, come across any wild turkeys along the river this morning. But I did see four just a few days before, marching up a wooded rise in a single-file search for food, one after another, a little parade that I found more remarkable than the giant Macy's floats shown on TV from New York.
All across the land, cooks were putting out time-honored dishes while professional shoppers, like seasoned athletes, were preparing for their annual Super Bowl, this time featuring a Thursday evening kickoff at many major retailers.
I'm no shopping snob; it's just not my bag. I proceeded to pick up two stray beer cans along the river, my total haul for the day, before heading back inside to thaw out, pack up and say thanks.
Publisher Charles Broadwell can be reached at cbwell@fayobserver.com[1] or 486-3501.
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