Everyone has experienced plans that fall apart. Sometimes the disappointment is great; other times it’s relatively small. Last weekend I experienced a minor(ish) disappointment when my plans fell apart. I instinctively turned to nature for comfort. The results? I was able to let go of my letdown and was presented with unexpected gifts.
It’s important to say my foiled plans didn’t result in any monumental loss. Just a shift from a three-day weekend in Northern Minnesota to staying home (sigh). I was planning on driving to Duluth to hike the North Shore. My hike included my son, who lives in Duluth. I was eager to check out ice formations, spend time in nature, and be with my kiddo. I also wanted to check my first 2025 nature resolution off the list. You can read about that here.
After Duluth, I was going to go to Crosby, Minnesota, to hike and attend a birthday lunch for an old friend. Imagine my disappointment when my car broke down Friday! It was clear a road trip was out of the question.
Luckily, my car was parked in a safe place since I had to leave it overnight. It took some time to find a ride home, but I managed. The next day, one of my brothers helped me retrieve it. Since I was busy from breakdown to getting my car to a mechanic, I didn’t have much time for disappointment. But on Saturday I felt fitful from being stuck without a car and my sabotaged plans. The situation left me unhappy.
I did what I often do when I’m blue: I headed for some nearby woods. I knew a spot where there was open water on a river. The edges and some spots in the middle are frozen, but not all. The river is home to some mallards, and I figured I’d find comfort in the company of my feathered friends. I was right.
The river was noisy with running water and ducks. As I crouched near the edge, watching the mallards, I noticed movement near an opening on some of the ice. It was a muskrat. It didn’t see me at first, so I moved closer, but I was upwind of it, and, quiet as I was, it must’ve smelled me because it looked my way. I stood still.
Every time the critter put its face down toward the water, I would take a step closer. And I got within about 15 feet of it, but then it dove into the cold water and swam upstream. I followed.
The muskrat resurfaced through another hole in the ice. When I got near, it dove into the water again. I decided to walk upstream, thinking it would head in the same direction it did the first time I alarmed it. I was right.
When it climbed onto the ice, the animal had its back to me but seemed to know I was there. It munched on some sort of sludge along the edge of the river. It had a brown, stout body that looked wet and glossy. I might have mistaken it for a beaver if the tail hadn’t given away its identification. Skinny and rat-like, the tail was wrapped around its haunches.
It was very engrossed in its meal but gave me the occasional side eye. I felt a twinge of guilt from disturbing its lunch, but I got over it. I really wanted to get closer to observe the interesting animal. When it dove into the water again, I decided to take advantage of the opportunity and walked quickly upstream again.
I spotted the back of the muskrat as it swam. Then, it came to a pile of rocks that spanned the width of the river. There was some space for it to swim, but it kept being pulled backward as it tried to cross the rocks. It was amusing to watch it swim in place, fight against the flow, and eventually be pulled back downstream. The critter never gave up. Finally, it mustered enough force to get past the rocks and resume swimming upstream.
Eating and diving, eating and diving. That was the pattern of behavior the muskrat continued for nearly an hour as I stalked it and watched. It was highly entertaining, and I enjoyed myself. I had forgotten about my dashed plans.
Again, I saw the critter emerge from the icy water. It hunched with its back to me and its face turned away. Still, I believed it knew I was there. When I accidentally stepped on some ice, and it dove, I decided to try and get closer one more time. I moved several yards upstream.
As it turned out, the muskrat was a clever trickster. When I looked back at the hole it had disappeared into, it reemerged in the same spot. It had stopped moving upstream. Did that animal know I was trying to outmaneuver it? Was I outsmarted by a muskrat? I smiled to myself and continued along the bank, leaving the river rat to enjoy its meal in peace.
As I tramped along the river, I noticed some ice formations along the bank and on rocks that were sticking out of the water. I smiled to myself, thinking how nature provided for me. Here I thought I’d missed out on seeing winter’s ice sculptures over the weekend, and I was presented with some near my home.
Of course, I still plan on getting to the North Shore this month, but the events of last weekend serve as an example of how nature comes through for me.
I spent time observing the ice sculptures. The designs and shapes were varied, providing a variety of interest. It was like being in a museum of winter art. I think my favorites were the layers of ice I found atop some large rocks.
Some of the ice formations were clear, but most were white, a sign of rapid freezing. Flash-frozen water gets a lot of air bubbles trapped inside and doesn’t maintain that clear “glassy” look. Clear ice is from freezing more slowly.
When I headed home, I felt happy and satisfied with my winter exploration along the river. I couldn’t begin to count the times I’ve gone into the woods (onto a lake, up a mountain, or through a field) with a disappointed heart, only to emerge with a skip in my step.
Nature does that. It transforms. Not only that, but it also provides unexpected gifts, like the muskrat and ice formations. So, the next time your plans fall through, try seeking comfort in nature. Sometimes, it makes all the difference!
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