Valentine, Babcock

Most of the snow has melted off the branches and boulders, but on today's snowshoe trek, I noticed this bit of icy romanticism in unexpected honor of Valentine's Day. I almost missed it at first, as I ducked under the small blob still clinging to a twig to avoid yet another splash on my camera, but as I began to stand up and forge ahead, I realized that what I'd seen was not, in fact, shapeless. Delicately, I crouched down again and retraced my previous steps. Sure enough, I was looking at a bona fide heart. Alas, I was alone, so I had no one to present it to and maybe sing that Hank Williams chorus about melting cold, cold hearts. A picture would have to do. My wife found nature's Valentine's Day gift amusing, and while there were no diamonds and chocolates to accompany it, there was a fine dinner and a delicious dessert—I made steak, Rosemary potatoes, salad, and apricot-glazed poached pears, if you're curious—that did quite well to honor the 14th the Saint, and Mr. Williams.