I never liked the cold and dark of winter. Cold, dark days found me sitting by the fire reading a good book Beowulf outside the Mead Hall in the cold, or King Lear ravaged by the elements, cast out by his daughters.

Then a year ago in December, Memphis arrived in a van from Tennessee. An organization had rescued him from being put down. He is part Great Pyrenees and part St. Bernard, bigger than the other rescue dogs. Despite his size he was at first hesitant in his new surroundings.

He soon adjusted to the old colonial and extended family of adults and children who pass through. He was so affectionate and willing to please that my husband and I began feeling guilty if we did not take him for a daily walk. A big dog needs big paths to run on.

In searching for new trails to walk with Memphis, we have discovered fresh places to explore, and have thereby expanded our own horizons. We go to Stratham Hill and Creek Farm and pore over maps in search of wildlife management areas.

Last winter we discovered the beauty of the frozen, rust-colored marsh. Memphis ran with pure joy, his white coat rippling and tail curving outward as he bounded over the icy cord grass. The expression of delight on his face exhilarated us as we wrapped our heavy coats closer to ward off the wind. We were energized by his childlike delight and graceful lope in the silver light.

Another day we took Memphis ice fishing. Again, we received more than he. The lake lay in great expanse as far as the eye could see, a Brigadoon that appears each winter. Memphis ran past abandoned fishing holes and primitive shacks, scattered communities of people covered in wool caps and lined jackets, and children running at the tilts to pull up the fish.

We exchanged greetings with the area fishermen and their families stamping their feet, offering advice. Later, we sat on a sled and drank beer and ate ham sandwiches. In the sharp air, Memphis raced far and wide, eating the leftover bait, tasting the winter.

We crunched across the temporary landscape,deep snow over ice, a landscape that would disappear in the spring. I experienced a sense of freedom that sprang from some deep collective memory. I looked forward to this winter to recapture that sense of freedom.

On a warm day this January we walked in the woods. Black, gray, dark brown trunks rose in stark contrast to the pale blue patches of sky. Deer prints abounded beneath our feet. The noise of a piliated woodpecker rang out. We heard the sharp crack of tree branches. Later we followed through a mist of snow fog as the snow evaporated in the warm air. With his white and tan coat Memphis blended with the landscape. Dripping snow fell into patterns of sea foam underfoot.

My husband, an outdoorsman, pointed out the protected areas under the greens, hemlock and pine where deer had bedded down. The snow was disturbed where they pawed for acorns or nibbled the hemlock and cedar. The temperature changed as we walked on the path, colder in the lower areas and warmer in the open.

We came to the frozen marsh with the frosting of ice over the inlet tide, our boots crunching down on the frozen bog. The fawn-colored salt-marsh cord grass lay in ruffled clumps. We were the only travelers on the frozen land, the sun a pale wash of light in the afternoon sky.

The woods were colder on the other side of the marsh as we followed Memphis, spirited on by his joy of discovery. The sun broke through and set patterns of shadow and pale, gold light on the east side of the trees.

Later, driving home, we looked up to glimpse the white head and tail of a bald eagle. What a thrill! Recalling my former dread of the cold, dark days of winter, I realized I had entered a whole new realm of winter joy and wonder, a gift from Memphis.

By Carla Marvin, Community Tree Steward UNH Cooperative Extension