Lessons from a Winter Walk on the Prairie

Late last week I went for a walk during the first snowfall of December. We have a beautiful little preserve called the Lincoln Marsh at the back of my neighborhood. It’s just the right size: In an hour I can walk down to the Marsh, walk the big loop trail, and walk back. It gets busy in the Spring and Summer but at this time of year I usually have it all to myself. Well, except for the wildlife. It’s my little winter sanctuary.

My dog Meg absolutely loves it, and loves the snow. You can see her above (somewhat) patiently waiting for me to stop taking photos and catch up to her.
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The beauty of the place is not in its grandeur, although it does have a certain grandeur. Rather, it’s in the details. It’s in the way the color of the light changes each season, and how the falling snow clings to an aster. Living near this place, experiencing it’s subtle changes, is teaching me how to slow down, quiet my mind, and lean into the everyday moments. That is a lesson I need constantly, especially in a world that places very little value on quietness, stillness, and contemplation. It’s really the same lesson that making pottery is trying to teach me, and the message I hope is quietly conveyed in the pots I make. 

I think this recent mug has some of the beauty of that winter walk. The softness and thickness of the layered glazes, and the subtle shades of olive green, gray and white echo the colors and textures of the marsh this time of year. This is a new glaze combination for me, but one I will certainly return to during this season.