Those of you who have to clear your driveway, scrape off your car, and make your way to work on snowy winter mornings will probably roll your eyes when I say this, but I love the snow. Growing up in Ann Arbor, Michigan, my winters included hours outside playing in the snow. With the freedom of a child, snowy days were spent on the slope leading into the ravine behind our small neighborhood park, climbing up over and over again, for the reward of being able to slide down yet again. Or with my brother, pulling our sleds the half mile down Dexter Road to Veteran’s park to join all the other kids taking advantage of the large hill there. Or in the yard, building snow men or snow forts, or making snow angels. Or walking for hours in a foot of snow, just because I could, because school was closed for a snow day. Or with my parents on long cross country ski trips around Peach Mountain or other back country trails. How could I help it? I got hooked on snow! Adulthood definitely changed my relationship with snow. Digging out a car, scrapping ice off windows, and navigating snow covered, slippery roads to get to and from school or work definitely changes ones perspective. But no matter the inconvenience of it all, I still love it when it snows! (Don’t tell anyone but I actually even love to shovel snow!)
My adult life took me away from Ann Arbor, first to Wisconsin, and then drifting south, to Iowa and then Missouri. Those moves took me away from snow filled winters. For the 27 years we lived in St. Louis, snow, when it came, was something you had to enjoy in the moment, as melting was generally quick, and most of the winter the ground was bare. Yet, while the winters in St. Louis may not have been as cold, I quickly learned that I would pick a cold beautiful snow filled day over a grey, damp 35 degree day every time. After leaving St. Louis for Springfield, Illinois, we had a little more snow, but the demands of my job made finding time to enjoy it a challenge. Now back in Michigan, living on Green Acres, retired from my “real job”, and with the farm in its winter lull, I am like a kid again, with plenty of snow and time to play in it.
Snow, where ever you live, is beautiful. But city snow can be noisy, with snow plows, snow blowers, people shoveling and scrapping and of course, kids playing. Snow at the farm is different. It is magical, and so, so quiet, like someone covered the world in a huge white muffler. Even the biggest snow haters couldn’t help but love it! Well, actually, the chickens aren’t so fond of it, but what do chickens know?
So, in the spirit of loving the snow, even on the coldest days this winter, if there is enough snow on the ground, you will find me out on my cross country skis, enjoying the day, usually with two enthusiastic dogs for company. At first, I was a bit hesitant about skiing. Although it was a regular winter activity when I was young, I more or less took 40 years off, before taking it up again last winter. After all that time, I wasn’t sure how it would go. After all, I am at an age where I would be wise to be cautious about falling. Yet, somehow, all these years later, my body remembers. The rhythm is there and skiing is a pleasure. I tried to drag my husband, Gary, out with me. He has skied with me on occasion over the years, but without the advantage of learning when he was young, and limited opportunities to practice, he struggles to find the rhythm, the balance, the glide. Watching him on his skis, I think back to when I was learning, despairing at climbing a hill on my skis, as my dad reached his pole back so I could use it to pull myself up and keep going. I see the kid I was in Gary, but I don’t have the strength to offer him the help my dad gave me, to pull him past the learning parts so he too can find the joy in skiing. So finally, this year, he acquiesced to a sore knee and decided that he will stick to walks in the snow. His decision makes me all the more aware of the gift my parents gave to me as a child, this muscle memory, that lets me ski now.
This week I will take that gift out on the trails, into a world hushed by the snow. The solitary quiet is wonderful, and the trails are rich with the prints of all the animals that live around us, reminding me that even though I may be alone on the trail, I am traveling shared spaces. And in those spaces I find the rhythm and the glide and the joy. I love the snow. I hope you too can find the time and a place to enjoy it!
