A winter spent in the highlands of western Virginia, and knitting as a passion returned with a fury. The result was learning how to knit mittens on straight needles – and many pairs of locally sourced wool resulted. (Yes, the side had to then be sewn up.) Audio recordings of books and more books in the evenings to engage the mind as fingers flew. A daily long walk skirting pastures to one particular high meadow past curious Herefords provided balance and solitude – one human accompanied by a black feist of a terrier and a black-and-white Border collie.
At the time, it was a way to pass the days waiting to get on with life. There was a big flat rock out in the open, perfect for basking and having an impromptu lunch from good things packed along in a knapsack. Freedom. Natural desposits of clay to play with beside the creek that bisected the pasture. Groves of evergreens. An oddity of an egg-shaped rock with layers flaking off, exposing its inner core. A secret glade where the cattle bunched up and dozed. Being immersed in the local richness of natural beauty. Absorbing knowledge about Civil War legends and local lore. Learning how to turn a mitten thumb. Loyal companions waiting at the fence gate.
