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Winter has changed how I see the woods. Living in Rhode Island’s snow belt means the landscape behaves differently than when I lived near the bay. We get more snow here, often twice as much, and I have grown to love how it reshapes everything. The quiet. The weight of it. The way each step leaves a record behind. Snowblowing the driveway three times has become part of the rhythm this season, and honestly, it has been fun. Walking the trails feels completely different in winter. The sound of boots compressing fresh snow. The stillness between footsteps. Tracks everywhere. Rabbit paths weaving between trees. Deer moving with purpose. Coyote tracks, or maybe a neighbor’s dog wandering through. There has also been a bobcat sighting in our yard and around the property. I have not seen it myself, but the signs are there. Even without seeing the animals, their presence is clear. Owls are more active this time of year, and their calls carry through the woods in a way they do not during warmer months. It is a reminder that even when things feel quiet, there is a lot happening just beyond view. We recently explored a section of our twelve acres that I had never walked before. Frozen wetlands made it accessible, though not without surprises. At one point, we broke through the ice and into the muddy ground below. Wet shoes. Mud everywhere. We laughed about it and kept moving. It became part of the experience rather than a reason to turn back. We also tested our snowshoes for the first time. Six inches of snow turned out to be more than enough. Suddenly, areas with boulders, downed trees, and young pine growth became easier to navigate. The snowshoes changed how we moved through the woods. More stable. Less slipping. We had a blast exploring terrain that usually feels slow and awkward to cross in winter boots. What I continue to learn out there is how much I enjoy working with what is given. Snow simplifies the forest, but it also reveals more. Tracks tell stories. Constraints sharpen awareness. Unexpected turns become part of the adventure. That mindset carries directly into my work. I enjoy location projects for the same reason. Studios are controlled and predictable. Real environments are not. I adapt. I read what is happening. I make thoughtful adjustments and keep moving forward. When I go with the flow and stay present, the experience becomes richer. The woods in winter remind me that meaningful work often comes from embracing uncertainty and enjoying every step along the way.
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