Fever of the Cabin


Cabin fever: irritability, listlessness, and similar symptoms resulting from long confinement or isolation indoors during the winter.

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This season has been a strange one, vacillating between cold-frigid-dry and mild-breezy-moist. The sun has peeked out for days at a time, and then retreated back to its cloud cover, refusing to dish out Vitamin D.

I was feeling the mid-winter blahs, so I rooted around for my hiking boots, and dug out my day-pack. It was time to hit the trails.

Enter: Prince William National Forest.

This gem is only a 30 minute drive from my house, assuming that I-95 is not a slogging mess of traffic. It wasn’t (hooray).

Things were quiet and closed down for the season. A few families were milling about, taking advantage of the higher temps, and letting their little rugrats release some pent-up winter energy. I took a peek at the trail map, and set out.

The landscape was a blend of white, blue, and shades of brown. The air smelled delicious, and I enjoyed clomping along the mucky trail. My favorite part was the semi-frozen creek along which I traipsed. Pretty is too nominal a word to describe the glistening snow covering, the icy edges, and the brave trickling stream that I followed for the majority of my day.

I spy some green!

I got up close, taking pictures to help me truly see and understanding this unassuming body of water. I hunched down with my face near the ice cover, noticing the lattice work of the frozen water reflecting the winter sun. Fellow hikers gave me friendly nods, probably assuming I had lost an earring, or a piece of my mind.

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Ice, ice baby

I walked.

I hiked.

I skipped (for just a small portion).

I was glad to be alone, and glad to have my senses ignited.

Fast forward a week: I now sit inside, once again, lamenting the rain that ebbs and flows.

Perhaps I’ll root around for my waterproof jacket and beat the winter blahs once again.

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Sky Time

Throughout my travels near and far, I have experienced nature in the forests, mountains, valleys, rivers, oceans, and even underground in caves.

It was high-time that I took to the skies.*

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Me. Happy.

When my pilot friend (who also happens to be a flight instructor) said, “Let’s go flying”, I was 100% onboard – literally.

It was a crisp, clear day with views for miles. I observed the lacy patterns on the semi-frozen Potomac River that lay surrounded by snow-dusted grounds. The deciduous trees stood as tiny skeletons while pockets of deep green marked the clusters of their evergreen friends. The Chesapeake Bay was a sight to behold with its glossy surface reflecting the sun, making the light dance as we flew lazy eights above.

The view from above, including the Potomac

I was experiencing my world from a completely new perspective, and thoroughly enjoying it. Things looked prettier from up high, away from the concrete and busyness on the ground. My birds-eye-perspective rendered everything as smaller, simpler, yet somehow even more beautiful.

And yes, getting a chance to take-off and actually fly a bit myself added to my sense of awe.

I was surrounded by air, far from the world as I know it, yet still experiencing the natural world in a phenomenal way.

I cherished every minute of it.

Our plane


* The commercial flights I’ve taken wherein I share elbow space with other humans and have just a peek of blue sky out a too-small window don’t truly count as a “nature experience”