Promises to Keep, and Miles to Go

Words and Pictures by Julie Williams Dixon. Created during Jan. 26 thru 30, but no internet available to publish til now

Fenceposts and rusty wire, snowy ridgeline with trees. Julie Williams Dixon 2026

In Robert Frost’s poem, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” the narrator pushes on, even though “the woods are lovely, dark and deep.” He returns to life, to his obligations. What might that look like for us right now? I’m pondering the stark beauty of ice formations on a mountain creek, the bleak reality of I.C.E., and the devastating impact of the recent ice storm, followed now by dangerous temperatures slightly disguised by a soft alluring snowfall. I’m wrestling with the mix of suffering and beauty. I swing between grief and hopefulness, between grandiose ideas and the mundane task of keeping the woodstove going and the pipes dripping. Chop wood, carry water. (Where are those monks right now? I need a personal consult!)

Playing in the creek

Last Friday, on January 23rd, I gave myself permission to go play in the creek. White Oak Creek, in Yancey County, NC has several easily accessible falls and a moderate trail that leads up the mountain or down to the banks along the healthy stream. It’s become one of my go-to places to saunter through the forest, and sit on the rocks while water moves by in various forms – sometimes silent, sometimes splashing noisily over rocks. People speak of brooks babbling. This one straight up talks to me. Loudly sometimes, sometimes just a whisper.

I knew that a crushing front of deep and extended cold temperatures, snow and ice, were headed our way. The storm already had a name, Fern, which frankly was much too frilly for the ruin and wreckage she had in store. I wanted to get outside, take my camera on a walk, and let my mind and body play before facing cabin fever.

Ice formations under a boulder in White Oak Creek. Julie Williams Dixon 2026

I went in search of potential ice formations, and was not disappointed. I carefully made my way alongside the creek, then across the creek, and eventually ended up in the creek. (Let’s hear it for waterproof boots.) Under a set of large boulders, I found ice hanging in strange shapes, as well as growing upwards. Like stalactites and stalagmites in a cave. The juxtaposition of frozen shapes with splattering and spraying water was entrancing.

Another kind of I.C.E.

All this was before the public execution of Alex Pretti. By another kind of I.C.E.

A shadow passed over my heart and soul when I witnessed the visciousness of his murder. Heard the repetitive gunshots. And I don’t need to reiterate all that went before or came since.

Like anyone with a shred of heart, or soul, or intellect, I’m mad as hell at the state of our country under this administration. I’m sickened that a man who revels in chaos and cruelty is at the helm. And frightened by those that still follow him.

Alternatively, I am in awe at the people in Minneapolis who steadfastly brave brutal temperatures and brutal circumstances to bear witness. To peacefully proclaim our collective disdain. We all have promises to keep, and miles to go before we sleep with any peace.

Ice in ice. White Oak Creek. Julie Williams Dixon 2026

The storm kind of ice.

Finally, there’s a third kind of ice to ponder. Icestorms. In Nashville, where I have family, ice formed so quickly last week that trees didn’t just break, they exploded. More than a quarter million households in that city alone faced numerous days and nights with the power grid decimated. In western North Carolina, where I’m living, there is ice frozen on the roads. It’s impenetrable. Neighbors nearby are stuck at the top of the ridge, so those of us down below on the valley road do what we can to make sure they’re OK. Loaning cars to them when they hike to the bottom so they can go into town. Buying groceries for those who can’t begin to venture out on the treacherous slope. (Milk and beer seem to be staples for many.)

Currently it is snowing and the forecast includes unrelenting negative wind chills for days. For now we’ve got power, and a functioning woodstove. I feel beyond grateful just to be moderately warm. I know there are people suffering, and as I often do, I feel helpless to make a difference.

I ventured out with my camera one more time in a wind chill of 1 degree, just to remind myself that there’s still beauty in the world.

Following is one more gallery of images made during the last week. And keep reading, because I’ve found a link to Frost reading his poem.