A Naif in the Forest by Darrell Berger

Wing Tips to Hiking Boots: Musings of a New, Full-Time Poconos Resident 

My favorite “White Christmas” is the Drifters’, with Clyde McPhatter on the high part and Bill Pinckney on the low. Now that Christmas is behind us, I’m dreaming of a brown January. There is no song to celebrate this dream. 

The photo that appeared here recently, with icy branches sparkling like jewels against an impossibly bright blue sky, could only be seen as beautiful if you didn’t have to walk or drive through it. Even in the summer our driveway is a challenge. Snow and ice raise the stakes from challenging to dangerous. There are usually several winter days I hope arrive with my calendar empty. I support the local custom of staying home when weather requires. 

Therefore, among my favorite holiday gifts this year were several days with temperatures in the mid-forties. All the dangerous beauty melted, revealing many shades of decaying brown, upon which it is perfectly safe to drive, walk, play with dogs and transport one’s trash cans to the road. The hibernating bears, skunks, snakes, groundhogs, bats, turtles and chipmunk might even get fooled. In fact, who actually hibernates and who just sleeps really, really well is a debate among scientists. 

An examination of winter colors other than white reveals beauty and variety not commemorated in song or celebration. Purple vines cross the bright greens of lichen and moss. These colors don’t need the sun. They are vivid, though often hidden, like shy children. The landscape appears soft, countless shades of gray and brown. Streams and creeks are melted sufficiently for dogs to splash, cold enough for them not to linger. No wading, but no slipping and sliding on ice, either. 

The days lengthen, but only astronomers notice. The rest of us ease into the light a few extra minutes each day. Today’s palette of earth tones will be covered and exposed by several snows before new sprouts appear and animals return to action. Until then I will enjoy the activity of brown days, and try to accept the inevitability of the white.