The initial wave of retirement arrived in mid-summer of 2022. After stepping away from police work, I spent the rest of that summer completing the septic system at the camp in the woods—a huge undertaking. Not long after, autumn crept in unexpectedly, and before I could fully adjust, winter settled in suddenly, catching me off guard and leaving me a little out of sorts.
That first winter of retirement brought an unexpected challenge. I can’t put my finger on it. But I suspect a bit of loneliness, coupled with the sudden stop of a long career, was difficult to manage mentally. I don’t think it impacted me as much as I’d read and heard. Still, I did feel odd about being able to do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted.
That winter, I walked daily through the woods near my house. Ellie joined me, but as her hip health declined, our walks shortened. She’s now limited to short jaunts at the new house and at the camp, usually lingering by the lake shore, careful not to go too far.
Ellie is sad when I go on walks by myself, standing, whining, wagging, staring. So much staring. You know the look if you have pets. Every exit turns into a Shakespearean-level lesson in angst, portrayed by an animal with no formal theater training.
How do they do that?
With this new year arriving, another transition came. For various reasons, including my attitude about how I want to navigate 2026 and my dislike for gym atmospheres (due to the people factor), I resumed walking at my new place. It’s off the beaten path, and the winter walking is better, certainly colder—perfect for moving outside. I love autumn, but winter walks are best: cold, wind, and sunshine.
Silent steps on snow-covered byways are rewarding. They’re better for your joints, I think. The cold is a natural sinus cleaner, too. Frigid air piped in through clean nostrils is certainly better for my O2 levels.
Some days, I still help at my buddy’s small business, mostly for the exercise. But I’ve missed these winter walks. How many years do we get to walk anywhere, anytime? Not enough.
Looking ahead, it won’t be long before I can get back to the cabin on the lake. Longer bouts of sunlight, slow as they come, will pull me back to my beloved Washington County, where I plan to finish some more work inside to make it more comfortable for the family this coming summer.
Today, with music from a wide variety of artists pumping into my headphones, I stopped several times to take in the wonder of snow on the pine and spruce. During one stop, I took a photo of a big pine tree, still holding heavy snow from recent storms. I took some shots of the leafless hardwoods, too. I hate leaving their wispy nudity undocumented. Together yet still with individuality. The sun tickles their branches the same as it does the firs. There is no preferential treatment in nature.
While I have never been accused of being a deep thinker, I marveled. The lowest, oldest branches of the pines bear the heaviest loads of snow. More stout and longer in the tooth, they still do the most work of all the tree branches. The youngest drop their load of snow as soon as possible, leaving it to the senior branches to catch and hold the brunt of the weighty burden.
It’s not bad being an old branch.
I’m navigating the January doldrums. I’m feisty but have no outlet to make me dog-tired. The walks will help.
I digress.
From the Jagged Edge of America, I remain,
TC
Thanks for reading the blog. Thanks for supporting my writing on BuyMeACoffee. I cannot believe how it’s made this writing journey more manageable. That’s because all of you who’ve been partners in this. It never goes unnoticed. I want to share with you my earnest thankfulness for the ability to be a writer first, taking small tasks here and there to fill in the blanks.
You are steadfast branches, holding up more than you know. Thank you for walking this trail beside me.