Winter’s grip has been fierce in recent weeks. Most days the temperatures struggle to get into the twenties, and that’s not considering the wind-chill. Usually, I can lean into the beauty of winter, and take the cold days in stride, but the consistently below normal temperatures have been making that more challenging than usual. (I may have even complained once or twice.)
This past weekend my lovely, long December break was winding to a close, and I found myself chafing against the unrelenting cold and determined to get outside. I was yearning for an opportunity to do some early morning wandering, filled with fresh air and natural beauty. I knew that once school started back up, my opportunities would be much more limited. So, on Saturday night, the last “free” night, I made up my mind.
“I’m going to go look for snowy owls and walk on the beach tomorrow morning” I announced to my husband.
He looked at me askance. “What’s the temperature supposed to be?”
“I don’t know. Mid-high teens?” I paused and wondered if I should check the forecast more carefully. “You know what?” I said suddenly, defiantly, “I don’t care what the temperature is! I’m going!”
“Ok,” he said. “Wake me up early, and I’ll come with you.” (Wow! I guess we were both feeling a little bit claustrophobic!)
So, shortly after 7 on Sunday morning, bundled up as if heading into the tundra, we set out for the beach. We chose to head to one about an hour south, where snowy owls tend to visit. (Spoiler alert: we didn’t see any.)
When we arrived at the beach, it was snowing and other than a small cluster of birds, the beach was mostly deserted. Thankfully, there wasn’t much wind, but when we got out of the car, the cold slapped us in the face. I wondered if we’d made a mistake.
“Well,” I said, looking at Kurt, “if it’s too bad, we can just drive around.”
We pulled our hats down further and burrowed into our layers. I pulled my hood up over my hat and then tucked my fingers deep into my pockets, cradling two hand warmers . We walked down onto the beach, where the tide’s edge was marked with frozen slush. (You know it’s cold when salt water’s freezing! )
Thankfully, as we walked, we got a bit warmer. Well, a little bit.
Moving along the beach, we approached the flock of birds. Though, I’m not positive, I think they were sanderlings. They huddled along the shoreline, feet encased in bubbling surf, occasionally running a few feet ahead, but mostly standing still. Just looking at them made me even colder.
As we neared, they moved slightly away from us. They seemed a bit sluggish, decidedly less active than usual. One, slightly behind the others, hopped along toward the group, and something about its movement caught my eye.
“Oh, no,” I said, “Do you see that? I think something’s wrong with one of its legs. It looks like it’s only using one of them.”
“Well, a lot of them are only on one leg,” Kurt noted.
“Yeah, but this one only moved on one leg. Did you see it hopping?”
I struggled to catch sight of the bird again, amidst the others. From a distance, I still couldn’t be sure, but one leg looked different. Also, whenever this bird moved, it still hopped from place to place. The others scurried with both legs, and when they stopped, they’d tuck the other leg up, to keep it warm. We watched the birds for several minutes, and I took a few photos, but it was too cold to linger. We wandered away, moving further up the beach, and my attention drifting to other things.
Before long, we decided to call it quits. Our feet were cold, our cheeks vivid pink, and our noses were running. But, hey! We’d gotten some fresh air and we’d gotten outside. It felt like a victory!
Note: Later, when I got home, I was still thinking about that bird. I downloaded my pictures and when I zoomed in a bit, I could clearly see that the its leg was significantly impaired.
I’ve been thinking about it a lot since then. About endurance and survival. About how harsh life can be. It feels like there’s a message in there somewhere. I’m still waiting for it to land.
Nix the comfort zone 
Sometimes those postcards of another’s struggle take awhile to land, as you said. And that’s the perfect word for it. There is a message but maybe not the obvious one. I admire your determination.
xo
Judith
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Thanks for reading, Judith! I kept trying to figure out what the message was while I wrote this, and found it endlessly frustrating. I finally decided I needed to cultivate a bit of patience.
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I feel your pain 3000 miles away. What we have here is a story of resilience and perseverance. Perhaps, there’s a message for us all in these uncertain times.
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Perhaps you’re right. We definitely need to tap into deep wells of resilience and perseverance these days.
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Brrrr…. I’ve been loving your frozen bubbles–both envious that you get to do such fun and cold things and happy that I don’t need to be so cold to enjoy them–and now your freezing beach adventure. So cold and so beautiful…and an echo of my own forays onto the winter beach (in entirely different weather).
Endurance and survival. I’ve also been thinking about those same ideas as I watch tide pool creatures–how do they survive their own harsh living conditions and then the added stresses that people bring as they overturn rocks, handle them recklessly, stomp around without regard to live in the pools…
So much to learn, to understand…messages yet to be decoded.
Thanks for always inspiring me! Kim
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The inspiration is definitely a two-way street, Kim! Thanks so much for this thoughtful comment.
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Winter cold on the beach is the coldest cold. But you can’t deny its beauty. Nor fits, how it invigorates and clears the brain. Thank you for sharing your cold beach walk.
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It definitely is invigorating. It’s rare that I don’t feel better for having gotten outside, even if my fingers and toes ache for a while from the cold.
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First, I am impressed that you made it out. We are also thick in the midst of below average cold, waaay above average snowfall and intermittent thaws that leave everything slushy and then frozen solid, Walking has been treacherous, to say the least! Secondly, I love that the impaired bird stayed with you, long after you found your way inside. There is so much that we can learn from simply observing the resilience and persistence of nature.
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We have had strange weather in addition to the cold. It’s a snow day today and temps in the 40s with rainy crud in the forecast for three days over the weekend. Ick. Weather aside, your final line says it all.
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I am currently reading Amy Tan’s The Backyard Bird Chronicles. What she does in art, you do with photographs. The book is just that, a chronicle. But from it I am learning to be more observant of the birds in my midst. There is a poem waiting for this one, impaired yet surviving in the coldest cold. Thanks for sharing this story and leaving us to ponder what it all means.
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I’ll be interested to hear what you think of her book. I’ve been eyeing it for quite some time!
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Molly, I was so intrigued by your slice. My husband and I often spent time at the beach each season. Your slice reminds me of those winter days bundling up, being cold, but finding the beauty of nature. You provided a message for me so I hope you find yours.
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I love going to the beach in the off-seasons, especially in the fall. The vast people-less expanse of the beach and the ocean ground me.
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How fantastic that your hubby joined you to venture into the near-impossible to breathe-in teens & the beach slush. The slush photo & also of the heart shape [shell? wormshell tubes?] caught my eye. I am always seeking heart shapes in nature. In all my years in mid-atlantic winters & then on visits to family in New England, I never saw beach slush.
The feathered lil’ one who struggled is on my mind. Appreciations for noticing when others [had they been bold & brave to walk in the supercold] wouldn’t have, but it follows as you embody The Artist’s Eye.
Happy New Year & Back to School, Molly! your big fan, JAN
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