Deep into December
A week ago, the Sierra Foothills had its first dusting of snow. As I looked through the high windows that frame the view from our living room, the flouncy skirt of a white pine off the porch had been flocked and dressed for a holiday ball sometime in the night. It was but a tease, an early morning glimpse of just how magical this world we now live in is when snow falls in December. Following this fleeting snow event, I set off on foot alone for a final fall day of forest bathing in a nearby woods that is a local nature preserve.
When I took my first solo walk there in April following our move from Missouri, I noted there was barely a sign to announce its entry point. Only a pile of logs from fallen trees within the preserve that had been cut and left for the taking. This sanctuary of tall pines, firs, maples, oaks, and dogwoods offered a quiet haven to clear my head and solitary space to contemplate the new chapter upon which Kit and I had embarked.
Its pathways in the spring were lined with lush green ferns and the reddish path underfoot was clearly visible. In late autumn, the trails disappeared under yellow oak leaves and dogwood leaves the color of Pink Lady apples. Now on the cusp of winter, I could not easily retrace the paths I followed on my earlier walks. Instead, I followed my senses to a clearing I remembered from a spring walk with our neighbor Carol who has walked these trails for the past 30 years. She’d pointed out a tree in the clearing where walkers hung Christmas ornaments during the first Covid December when there were no social gatherings to celebrate the holidays.
Now, back in that same clearing, I reached into my pocket, took out a single red Christmas ornament, and hung it as high in the tree as my arm would reach. On my walk back, the forest revealed more of its magic. Smoke appeared to rise from under a pile of leaves in the distance, then suddenly disappeared—phantom steam escaping as sunlight warmed up the cold ground. Along the trail, the gnarly boot-shaped base of an old tree was blanketed with moss the color of an Irish meadow. I was reminded of The Signature of All Things by Elizabeth Gilbert where I read about the micro universe of mosses and their world of tiny forests that compete for survival, unnoticed by passersby. Suddenly I felt like Alice before she ate the magic mushroom that made her small enough to travel down a rabbit hole into Wonderland.
After returning home, I walked in our stretch of woods, gathering incense cedar boughs that will decorate the lanterns that line the deck railings. It was then time to gather up hoses to be stored next to the potting shed and mulch the bases of some of the tender plants in our redwood raised flowerbed. Stepping up into the flowerbed, I surveyed the scene and discovered that the two hellebores—a genus of winter-flowering “Christmas roses” in the Ranunculus family—are in bloom. In Missouri, hellebores don’t flower until just before Easter and are therefore known as “Lenten roses.” Our Provence lavender plants have a few December fronds in flower and should continue to bloom year around if I keep them pruned. Low growing thyme is gradually spreading and marking its territory across the front of the bed. And at one end of the bed, two rose bushes planted in the summer survived nightly visits from deer during the drought months. And like a holiday miracle, our butter yellow Julia Child rose bush has rebloomed in synch with winter’s arrival and hellebore Christmas roses.
Piles of colorful October pumpkins and squashes that decorated the entrance to the house for two months have been moved to a baker’s rack next to a sunny window at the end of the garage. One by one, they will become a creamy winter pumpkin soup with ginger, topped with a drizzle of spicy red chili honey. Or perhaps a pumpkin & pea risotto with roasted pumpkin seeds. And for our daughter Heidi and wife Sugie, I’m game to make a festive pumpkin cheesecake for their late December anniversary.
With the gardens put to bed and the house now fully decorated for Christmas, I wrapped gifts for kin in TX, UT, MD, and CA. Then it was off to our local SPD Family Market that houses a small USPS operation and mailed them off in time for delivery before Christmas. While I mailed the boxes, Kit ordered a BLT from SPD’s Deli to be shared in our car while we waited for the box office to open for the Saturday matinee of Stephen Spielberg and Tony Kushner’s brilliant remake of West Side Story. More on that next week.
On the rainy Sunday that followed, I took time to peruse cookbooks for tasty dishes to serve at our Christmas open house for a few neighbors later in the week. One of the cookbooks I pulled off the shelf was Cowgirl Chef: Texas Cooking with a French Accent by Ellice Pierce. I was in search of her recipe for Cheesy Rosemary Olive Flatbread, perfect for the assorted cheese and charcuterie platter for the holiday gathering that will most likely coincide with December’s second snow event—one promising to be significantly measurable and memorable.
Antique sleigh bells that once graced a team of horses have been hung by the front door. Cross-country skis, trekking poles, and snow boots with Yaktrax attached will have to do in the absence of a team of horses pulling a Victorian sleigh should snow fall in the amounts as predicted. Stay tuned! It’s looking a lot like it’s going to be a very white Christmas here in the foothills above Nevada City.