The glow of home through the trees after a moonlit snowshoe walk in the woods.
Walk in My Woods is my ongoing series about life on our Rhode Island property, the changing seasons, wildlife, and the quiet moments that shape how I see the world.
Rhode Island saw a winter we do not experience very often. Snow measured in feet instead of inches.
Some places reported totals approaching the snowfall from the historic Great Blizzard of 1978. At the airport roughly 38 inches fell during one stretch, while here on our property we saw a bit over two feet from a single storm. That landed on top of the 18 inches already on the ground from the previous one. Schools closed for days and for a short time there was even a driving ban on the roads.
For us, it opened the door to something I have wanted to do for years. Snowshoeing through our woods.
The deep snow transformed parts of the property that we walk all the time. Trails disappeared and familiar areas looked completely different. One afternoon we came across a few deer bedded down in the snow. They noticed us first and quickly disappeared into the trees.
What surprised me most was how much the snow changed our perspective.
There is a spot along the creek where we always thought two trees were growing side by side. With nearly three feet of snow piled around the base, the trunks looked clearly separated. After the recent rain melted the snow away, we realized it had actually been one tree the entire time.
Nearby sits a small Fisher Price style picnic table the previous owners once left for their kids along the creek. While snowshoeing we searched for it a few times and could not find it anywhere. It had completely disappeared under the snow. After the melt, it suddenly reappeared again as if it had been hiding all winter.
The snow even created something unexpected. On two different hikes we found natural bridges where snow and ice formed solid crossings over the creek. With our snowshoes on we were able to walk right across and continue exploring parts of the woods we usually reach only in warmer months.
One night we walked down to the creek under a bright full moon. The snow reflected so much light that we turned off our headlamps and sat quietly in the snow. We poured a glass of wine, listened to the water rushing over rocks and small waterfalls, and enjoyed the stillness of the woods.
Moments like that remind me how much perspective can change depending on the conditions around you.
Snow transformed places we see every day. Familiar paths disappeared. New ones appeared. Even simple things like a tree or a small picnic table revealed something different once the landscape changed.
I think storytelling works much the same way. Often the goal of a project is to help people see something familiar from a new perspective. Sometimes all it takes is slowing down long enough to notice what was there all along.
Most of the snow is gone now, though a few patches still linger in the woods behind the house. Spring is clearly on the way. After nearly two months of not seeing parts of our yard or driveway, I expected to be fully ready for the change.
Instead, I find myself wondering if we might get just one more snowfall. Enough for one more quiet walk through the woods on snowshoes. 🌲
Originally shared in the March 17, 2026 Indermaur Media newsletter.
