“It is Hoar Frost, I think.” As customers arrived and we admired the scenery from the windows of the Mill, the term slowly came to mind, and even the spelling of the word.
December 26, 2013, driving to work at War Eagle Mill, the vistas of frost on the trees, shining in the beautiful light, the clear blue sky outlining the white, left me speechless. Once the Mill was open and no customers, I asked my co-worker to join me outside to take photos. Jennifer is a budding photographer and was glad to join me in marveling at the fantasy world outside.
The bridge, the trees, everything with an edge or a surface, was outlined in pure white slivers of frozen fog. That is what the forecast had called for: frozen fog. Having no idea what that meant, I dreaded the idea of driving to work in “frozen fog” but then discovered the sheer beauty of it without the danger of ice and snow covered roads. Jennifer and I walked over the bridge, around the mill, and looked up into trees above our heads. Every thirty seconds, at least, one of us would say, “It is gorgeous” or “I’ve never seen anything like this” or “How beautiful!”
And it was so beautiful; a fairy land scene like you see in movie musicals, people dancing improbably out in sub-zero weather without proper shoes or coats, the sun glinting off of the frozen trees and ground. It was cold, but without the wind it was really not hard to deal with. An hour later, the whole scene was transformed, the sun once out for a while melted it all away.
Over the next two weeks connections to my thought process of how I came to know the word hoar frost kept building. Something I would read, a thought that would come to mind, a conversation with someone. Over those days I recognized that there is a connection to knowledge that we are unaware of but is so available for the asking.
Some might call it a generational genetic connection, others might say a universal knowledge, or innate (inborn; natural) knowing (another way of saying genetic imprinting maybe). I’ve tapped into this thought process before; a knowing of something I wasn’t aware I knew would make me think: hummm. But this time I got it.
A book I’m reading for the second time talked of how God walked upon the deep and what that brought up for the author. As I read it I imagined God walking on the waters of the deep, before any form had taken place, and thinking, “Think I will do this,” and it was done. His knowing so old and no doubt surprising him when he recognized the knowing. Some might say that God knows all things all the time. And I believe he does. But just like us, made in his image, maybe it takes the right time, the right setting, to bring it to mind and fruition.
As I have gained in age I have gained in knowledge (thankfully). And much of that knowledge I gained because I listened to a teacher, or an advisor, or read a book, or researched it. But a lot of what I know seems to be just like that hoar frost, a knowing without knowing I know. My friend Larry suggested I post a photo from the series on a weather station website. When I searched and found the site, the first thing I noticed was the description by the weather man of the “hoar frost” that was all over the landscape.
But, I already knew that! So trust your knowing, stop second guessing yourself. If you have to, look up the word, or idea, or fact and verify it. But trust the knowing!