  Once I was hiking in a remote part of the woods that was new to me. Imagine my surprise when, looking ahead, I saw a black umbrella. Just hanging from a tree. It was the oddest sensation. I have never meet a living soul up on the mountain paths, and it would seem to me that those who venture there aren't the umbrella toting types. My thoughts immediately turned to Mr. Tumnus whom I know is a created character, even in the movie. (Yeah for green sceen technology) But still, it does give one pause for thought. Where did that umbrella come from? | Sometimes when I'm walking in the winter woods, I wonder if I've stumbled into Narnia. I suppose this thought comes to me most frequently during the cold hikes of winter because my fondest Narnian memories rise from the season of endless winter created by evil Queen Jadis in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. I see lots of cloven footprints, and I know in my head that of course they were made by deer, but every now and then something happens that makes the think I've passed across the threshold to another world. I wonder if I'll bump into Mr. Tumnus just around the bend.   |
Another day, along a path I regularly follow, perhaps a mile from the road, I observed a garden tool lying parallel to the trail. It looked like it had been there forever, but I had never noticed before. The handle was well worn, and the hoe blade was rusted with lichens growing on it. Where had it come from?
As far as I could see, in every direction, tall hardwoods, heavy undergrowth, and bushy pines filled the view. No garden in need of tending could be found for miles. That hoe looked for all the world like it had been carefully placed next to a log by someone who disappeared unnoticed into the periphery, not wishing to be seen. Again I thought of Mr. Tumnus. Had he slipped into the shadows behind that huge maple when I came humming around the bend? Was he in the habit of watching for me on my afternoon amble, and where was he now?
My closest almost Narnia encounter began late one afternoon when I had returned from a hike and realized I'd lost my warm headband. Somewhere I'd been fumbling gloves on/gloves off, glasses on/ glasses off, camera lens cap on/off,…and dropped my headband in the process. (I still don't feel like I can take the best pictures while I'm wearing my glasses…the viewfinder suits my naked eye better…and on a cold day when I'm well bundled, juggling my "gear" can get very complicated mid-trail.) So the headband was gone. I felt sorry about the loss, for it was a favorite, just the right amount of warmth without feeling smothered. (But still, I couldn't hear the owls well through it, so that was probably why I had it off to begin with…) I didn't give it further thought.
Weeks later, when I revisited that area, what did I see hanging from a pine branch overhanging the path? You guessed it. The headband. Now you tell me, isn't that just the sort of thing Mr. Tumnus might do?
Weeks later, when I revisited that area, what did I see hanging from a pine branch overhanging the path? You guessed it. The headband. Now you tell me, isn't that just the sort of thing Mr. Tumnus might do?
What's to love about winter? Narnian thoughts. Narnian encounters. Almost.
Hummin'B.
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