Entry #1 - My Frozen Refuge

Thursday January 15, 2015

9:00 am

9°F

Snow and ice cover Bayberry Drive. I crunch my way to the end of the driveway with my dog, Romy, bouncing along at my side. Her small body disappearing for a moment into the snow, before emerging, ears first, hers paws an inch above the snow for a flash and back down. We go along this way until we reach the street. Romy could choose to walk on the snow-cleared driveway, but she prefers to play in the snow of the boarding yard.

Bayberry Drive is a gradually steep and constantly curving lane. It is nestled behind state route 46 in a development that was built in the 1970’s. The homes on Bayberry are priced from modest to ridiculous. It’s a safe and friendly neighborhood. Residents are outside at all hours of the day (and night): grass cutting, snow shoveling, dog walking, bike riding, walking, sitting on the porch swing or around a fire pit.

This morning, the sky is a cloudless, crisp, cerulean blue. The sun is bright and glinting off the snow. It's quiet this time of day. I hear wind chimes moving in the bitter cold. Periodically, I hear a car pass on SR46. Five minutes into our walk I finally spot some birds. They’re calling from high up in a tree. Their fluttering wings and melodious chirping are a welcome break in the silent morning.

I return home and loose Romy to a sun-filled spot on the ottoman. I go to the backyard and look at, what is usually, my writing refuge. The place I go to escape, read, dream and create. The groundhog who lives under the deck, the woodpecker who visits daily, the blue jays, robins, sparrows, cardinals and the dozens of squirrels who live in the trees have accepted my prescience. Today, and for the last few weeks, my backyard been masked by over six inches of snow. The thick white cover is like a security blanket hiding it from view.

When I was a toddler I had a blanket. I carried it with me everywhere. Though I can’t remember why, I imagine it’s because it helped me feel safe. Over the last several years, I haven’t felt secure. The sense I had that “everything’s going to be all right and work itself out” left me in 2010 and I’ve been searching for it since. I searched here first and came away empty. Then I ventured north to Meadville and was pulled back again. Most recently, I risked everything and went south to Pittsburgh, where I lost again. I’ve found only vulnerability and sadness in the other places. I would give anything (and have given everything) to be snug and happy (feel protected and cherished) where I am. Instead, I feel lost and out of place – everywhere but my backyard.