Month: December 2013

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Snowshoeing

After all the busyness of preparing for Christmas, and after all of the cold weather we’ve been having, I took advantage of the beautiful day to go snowshoeing today. It was indeed a lovely winter day: temperatures in the 20 degrees Fahrenheit (above zero) range, no wind, a few big snowflakes falling from the sky. It was Christmas-card beautiful, and I was determined to get out of the house to enjoy it.

I first tried snowshoeing three years ago. That time, I took the children to one of the local nature centers and rented snowshoes for the three of us. As we were heading out on the trail, two women came in and told us about all the wildlife they had seen: squirrels, birds, wild turkeys, even a fox. I was excited to share winter in Minnesota with my children. Prior to this, their experiences with being outside in Minnesota had been limited to building snow forts, sledding, and playing outside at recess.

I wanted them to learn the joys of being in the woods in wintertime, when it is not only less buggy but incredibly peaceful. When I was in middle school and high school, I loved to cross-country ski. Some of my fondest winter memories are of gliding through woods and across fields, spying wildlife—pheasants, cardinals, hawks, even a few deer—or their tracks, and moving through a world of chiaroscuro: white snow, dark tree trunks, the shadows cast by the weak sun on branches and weeds. I especially loved the peacefulness: I might hear a snowmobile or a distant car, but mostly the woods were silent except for the calls of birds or squirrels, sap snapping in tree branches, and the sounds I made as I glided through.

We did not experience peace on the day I took the children snowshoeing. I think we scared away most of the wildlife for miles, other than a couple of brave squirrels. The children (they were 10 and 6 at the time) found it frustrating to walk with the snowshoes on their feet. Son’s boots kept coming loose from his shoes, and they both fell down several times. They spent much of the time bickering with each other and complaining to me. They thought it was boring and pointless to walk through the woods, until we came across a place where someone else had built a lean-to out of sticks. Then they wanted to play until they became cold. They removed their snowshoes and carried them the rest of the way back to the nature center.

I enjoyed it, though, so much so that my husband gave me a pair of snowshoes for Christmas 2011, the year we never had enough snow for using my snowshoes. Last year, I wore my snowshoes once, while watching the kids sledding down a hill in the neighborhood. I thought it might keep my feet warmer to stand more above the snow than down in it. (It did help.)

At any rate, I was determined to get out of the house and get some exercise today. Daughter suggested we get out of the house and see Disney’s movie, Frozen. “Why not go out and experience the snow instead?” I asked. “Why not stay warm and look at the snow on the movie screen?” she asked in turn. Son gave me a flat “no,” looking up from his new Christmas electronic gadget only long enough to add, “We tried that once, and I hated it.” Husband was busy with his own projects, so I headed out alone.

We live near enough to the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum to be members. It is one of the jewels of our state, and I love to visit it, although I had visited only once in the winter before. I headed there to try out my still relatively new snowshoes and to spend some time out of the house. I thought it might be crowded, though, since the Arb always seems to be busy.

I was surprised at how few people I saw. One man was hiking the trails instead of snowshoeing. (They were packed down enough to make this possible.) I saw three cross-country skiers (the ski and snowshoe courses are separate, but some of the trails loop near each other) and perhaps two dozen snowshoers. It is possible to rent snowshoes at the Arb, but I brought my own. I do not know if they rent poles, but my husband had thoughtfully included a pair when he gave me mine. They made a world of difference. The first time we snowshoed, the wider gait was awkward and made it easy to lose one’s balance, especially when the snow shifted unexpectedly. Having poles helped me keep my balance, and it made it much easier to go up and down hills.

The poles also made it possible for me to walk fast. I’m having trouble with pain in my left shin, so I haven’t been to run for over a week. I miss the exercise and the high of a good workout. Walking doesn’t aggravate my shin as much, but I don’t get the endorphin rush, either. Struggling over the snow, up and down hills, brought on that rush—and a lot of sweat. I was glad I had dressed in lighter layers instead of my parka. I had to remove my gloves and spent most of my walk barehanded. I estimated my distance at 3 miles and was disappointed when my Fitbit read only 2.7, but it was a great workout for an hour’s walk.

Everyone I met on the trail was friendly. We said hello and wished each other a Merry Christmas, traded a few comments about the weather and the trails, and moved on. I saw a few families trekking together. One of the families included two boys about the age of my children three years ago. I was comforted to see that they were not much more interested than my kids had been. But they didn’t have poles. I wondered if they would have found it easier with poles—of course, one always has to wonder if kids will use poles appropriately.

It was a beautiful trek, through the woods of maples and basswood and the wildflower glen (one of my favorite walks at the Arb and lovely even in winter), along ravines, through an oak savannah, and skirting wetlands and ponds. I didn’t see much wildlife this time, either: a few cardinals and squirrels. I saw deer tracks in the wildflower area, though, and other tracks that were not so easy to identify in the freshly-fallen snow.

It was peaceful. With so few people out and about, most of the time the only sound I heard was my own breathing. When I would stop to catch my breath, I could distantly hear the sound of cars on Highway 5, but the snow seemed to mute even that. I thought often of Robert Frost’s, “Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening,” although it was afternoon and the snow stopped while I was walking. The rhythm of the poem seemed to match my steps.

My only regret was that I was not skiing. My legs wanted to remember the graceful kick-and-glide of skiing, to go with the feeling of my hands on the poles, although it has been many years since I have cross-country skied. I enjoyed being out, and snowshoeing gave me the opportunity, but it is still more awkward to tromp through the snow than it is to ski. And it would have been much more fun to ski down the hills than to walk.

It was a wonderful way to spend an hour on a winter’s day. I wish I could have spent longer, but I didn’t want my family to worry, and there are so many other things to do at this time of year. I hope to find the time to return tomorrow or Saturday, before the temperature falls again. I hope I can talk my family into coming with me.

If you are interested, check out the Arboretum’s website at www.arboretum.umn.edu. Snow shoes are available for rent, but you must bring your own cross-country skis. The Arboretum frequently hosts special outdoor events, even in winter, including Ar-BRR-etum! on December 31, with free admission all day to cross-country skiers and snowshoers.

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Christmas

Christmas

Sometime between the wrapping of presents
and baking of cookies,
Christ entered in
and Christmas came.

“Christ is born again in our hearts,”
the priest proclaimed,
and it was so.

He was there,
newborn and fully grown,
loving God,
a new and eternal presence.

Welcoming me home
into His heart
and my own.

Welcome, dear Savior.
Christmastime is come again.
Christ has come.

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Baby, It’s Cold Outside

Well, here it is. Winter has arrived. It didn’t try to sneak in on us, as it sometimes has. A few years ago, I took a picture of one of my pansies still blooming on December 1. Not this year. Winter came barreling down from Canada like an express train. I read that the average high temperature in the Twin Cities for the coming week is +29 degrees (F). We haven’t seen 29 in several days now. Our high today was 1, as in 1 degree above 0 Fahrenheit, -17 degrees Celcius.

I was a little more cheerful about the idea of winter a few days ago. That was before I was smacked on the face with -15 degrees when I took the dog outside in the morning. She didn’t really appreciate it, either. Fortunately for both of us, it is now cold enough that she will do her business in the yard instead of wanting to walk to the park. Moreover, when she’s finished she wants to go inside right away. Most of the year, she loves being outside. Right now, I think she is wondering why we can’t come up with indoor plumbing for her.

This feels much more like January than December. I hope that does not mean that January is going to be really cold. Remember that -28 in 2009? That was only a year after we moved back to Minnesota after living in Arizona and Colorado for several years. That was a an unpleasant reminder of winters past. It was so cold that my then 4-year-old son, when having to get out of the car to walk in to preschool, started crying and saying he wanted to move back to Colorado. It was so cold that when my husband sent a friend a screen shot of a weather website showing the temperature, he said that it didn’t matter if it was degrees F or C, it was just FNC. It was so cold that school buses wouldn’t start.

We were pretty close to that this week, and it looks like it isn’t going to be much warmer for the next few days. I am starting to remember how to deal with it, though.

First: layers of clothing. It makes a difference, especially having on at least two pair of socks at all times. One should also always wear a hat. My husband wears a hat in his office in the basement. It is on the northwest side of the house. In the summer, it is pleasantly cool. In the winter, it is decidedly chilly. My son has been wearing two hats outside. My daughter resists this trend, because she doesn’t want “hat hair.” Oh, I remember the days. That was before attending the University of Minnesota. I will never forget walks across campus to an 8 am German class in -25 degree weather. I had a cute beret I wore through the cool days of fall, and I tried to continue to wear it in January. After one frigid morning, I traded it in for the wool hat my mother had knitted me. I learned that it’s ok to leave one’s winter hat on in college classes, and then one doesn’t have to worry about hat hair. Also, hat hair is a darn sight better than frost bite. I also learned not to schedule 8 am classes on the opposite side of campus in the winter.

Second thing to remember: slow down. We had a little snow early last week (thankfully, not nearly as much as the northeast corner of Minnesota), before the cold arrived. When that polar air arrived, the snow and melting snow turned to ice. It is extraordinarily slippery, something that a few drivers don’t seem to remember. Saturday night, a driver pulled out in front of our car while we were turning into a parking lot, onto glare ice. The other driver was lucky. He was driving a small, old coupe; we were in our SUV. Fortunately, my husband was driving slowly, but it was a near thing. I wonder if the other guy’s life passed before his eyes?

Third thing: ’tis the season for the crock pot. There are few things better than walking into the house and smelling a warm dinner after shoveling the driveway or coming home from work. I am planning this week’s meals with a heavy reliance on this appliance. It also is extremely energy efficient, so it’s a “greener” alternative to baking or roasting.

And another thing: heated mattress pad, flannel sheets, and a down comforter. A Minnesotan’s aphrodisiac. My husband gave me a heated mattress pad for Christmas a few years ago. When I unwrapped the box, I was not terribly enthusiastic. I thought about returning it, but he convinced me to try it. I knew there was a reason I married him. Now, I turn the mattress pad to preheat about an hour before we go to bed, and it warms up the bed beautifully. Best gift he ever gave me. No more crawling to bed wrapped in multiple layers. (I don’t think he found that very attractive.)

But now, all silliness aside, I have to admit that I live a comfortable life, despite the harshness of our winters here. Many people don’t have these luxuries of appliances or extra clothing or a home. At this time of year, many organizations try to help the homeless and those who are in need of food or clothing. If anyone out there is reading this, I encourage you to do what you can to help those who are in need. I can’t imagine trying to sleep outside in the weather we’ve been having lately. I pray for those who do endure this, and I offer what assistance I can. I hope you’ll do the same.

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Winter memories

This time of year stirs up so many memories.

Many memories are tied to the holidays, of course. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s—they all stick out from the ordinary days in a child’s memory. Even after growing up, they are still special days and, perhaps because they are so often shared with friends and family, they evoke strong memories.

I have many memories of ordinary days in winter, too. I am not completely certain why, but I suspect it has something to do with the cold creating a heightened sense of awareness. The cold can be dangerous here (the heat and humidity can, too, of course). There also may be a sense that winter is another world entirely than the more benevolent months of the year.

At any rate, being outside in winter for me evokes very immediate sensory memories. For example, today the snow was the beautiful Hollywood snow for much of the day: big snowflakes, the weather was not too cold, and there was not much wind. This reminds me of some of my earliest winters, spent in Omaha. (It’s true, I’m not a Minnesota native, but I moved here when I was seven, so most of my formative years were spent here. My father is a native, so I consider myself a Minnesotan by adoption and experience.) We had the bone-chilling, below-zero cold less often there than we have here. Snow was more likely to be soft and wet and suitable for making snow people, snow angels, snow forts, and snow balls. When I feel the sloppy, slushy snow like we had today, I remember vividly playing outside until my snow pants and coat, my woolen mittens and scarf were soaked from melting snow. I also remember walking around downtown Minneapolis, late in the winter after I graduated from college, going to and from my first “real” job. I can almost feel the crack in my boots where the slush from the spring melting started to come up into my boot. How angry I was that it was going to ruin my tights that I was wearing with my new dress, and how worried I was that someone or something was going to splash the sloppy, wet, gray mess in the streets and on the sidewalks onto me, ruining my dress. It turned out to be a well-founded fear.

Tonight, the temperature is falling and the wind is coming up. As I listen to it blow outside, I remember cold nights in the house in Lakeville where I grew up. My sister and I shared a bedroom on the northeast side of the house, and I remember lying in our beds, snuggling down under the blankets, as we listened to the wind roaring outside the house, the snow sifting against the siding and the windows. It’s not a very loud sound—icy snow blowing on the outside of the house—but I know that it is cold outside when I hear it.

A plow just drove along our street. That takes me back to listening to the plow go up and down the street outside our window. As I hear the scraping of the plow, I can almost feel myself lying in bed, wondering if we’ll have a snow day. (I don’t believe we had nearly enough snow today to warrant one for tomorrow.)

When I shovel the driveway, I remember all the shoveling I had to do as a kid. I don’t believe my father invested in a snow thrower until after my brother and I were away at college. He may have waited until our younger sister left home. I was surprised when he finally bought one. It brought home to me that he was no longer as young as he used to be. The man could shovel thick, heavy snow faster than anyone I ever knew. I still cannot fill a shovel half as full or throw the snow half as far. When I am shoveling, I can almost see him attacking the snow with a fierce, undivided intensity.

Going for a walk in the snow also brings back memories. For most of elementary school, I had to walk at least a couple of blocks to a bus stop or to school. My most vivid memories are of walking to school in fourth and fifth grade. It was a walk of several blocks, probably more than half a mile, and I had to go up and over a hill. In the winter, it always seemed colder walking over that hill than on any other stretch of the walk. The wind seemed to pick up speed and cause the sidewalks to drift over, even when the homeowners had shoveled them clear. (Not all of them ever did clear them.) As an adult, when I’m walking the dog on a cold winter morning, and I come along a stretch of sidewalk that has not been cleared, I feel like I’m ten years old again. I can feel my brother’s old snowmobile boots on my feet, the wool scarf my mom knitted me over my face, my hands in the mittens that might not have dried from the day before. It is a memory of bitter cold and fatigue, of tromping through snow drifts past my knees, feeling the burning snow on my cheeks. Maybe that’s why I feel exceptionally irritated when our neighbors don’t clear their sidewalks.

I don’t sled or skate much anymore. The hills and the ice seem much harder than they used to. But when I hear the scrape of skates on ice, I am transported back to the nights I used to spend at the figure skating rink across the street from our house. I can still feel the icy air in my nose and my toes slowing growing numb as tried to skate like my neighbor. She was a good skater, and I was not. Sometimes she tried to help me, sometimes she laughed at me. (She wasn’t the only one.) I finally gave up ice skating in frustration. I am always amazed when my kids want to skate. I never enjoyed it, but they do, laughing even when they fall, laughing when they glide.

I wonder what kind of memories they will have of winter. They already have some. They associate snow with playing outside, sledding and building forts. Soon I expect they’ll be asking if the skating rinks have been flooded so they can go skating. (Given the weather forecast, it will certainly be cold enough for it.) Will they have memories of watching their father use the snow thrower (and me the shovel)? Will the feel of nylon and Thinsulate evoke the same kind of sense memories them as I have of wool and leather? Will they learn the sounds that snow makes when it’s warmer or colder? Will they be able to tell by the sound of the plow if a snow day is likely? I wonder. I hope they’ll share their memories with me someday.

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Winter in Minnesota

Winter is settling in. We had a couple of hours of snow this afternoon, and the forecast calls for more. It is December. It is time.

The snow this afternoon was one of those perfect December snows: enormous clumps of snowflakes falling straight down, almost like rain. A few degrees warmer, and it would have been rain. It was a Hollywood kind of snow.

My husband had just put some Christmas lights on the trees in front, and they looked pretty in the snow. (This is the first year we’ve had lights outside since moving here in 2007. Every year, either the snow or other circumstances have conspired against him.) And it was the perfect amount of snow: just enough to make the yards look pretty and magnify and soften the brilliance of the Christmas lights at our house and at the many other houses. Fortunately, we didn’t have enough snow to make the roads too slippery. Yet.

The National Weather Service has issued a winter storm watch for our area, between tomorrow and Thursday. We have the potential for more than six inches of snow. It might be pretty, but it will cause many more headaches. I’m thinking about my schedule for the remainder of the week: work, son’s Lego robotics class, both children’s basketball practices, daughter’s basketball game, errands. Snow and icy roads adds another dimension of confusion and chaos to the list of things to accomplish each day. This is what I dislike most about winter.

I also dislike the clutter of boots and snow pants. I dislike searching for hats and gloves, reminding children to bundle up, wiping the dog’s paws when she comes inside, and vacuuming up the grit that seems to be tracked in from the streets, even when we remove our boots at the door. I dislike my nose running when I go outside, and I dislike driving in my warm winter coat (too bulky) and gloves (too slippery).

Those annoyances aside, I like spending the winter in Minnesota. I like the stillness on a weekend morning after a snowfall, before the snowmobiles and snow throwers begin their noisy drone. There is nothing like that peace. I like the sound of snow under my boots, and I like how I can tell the approximate temperature by listening to that sound: the colder the temperature, the squeakier the snow.

I like seeing chickadees and cardinals in the snow, and the flash of a squirrel’s tail on a sunny winter day, as it searches for nuts. I like to go cross country skiing or snowshoeing and come across a place where a herd of deer have bedded down, their shapes imprinted on the snow. I like to see the flamboyant flash of a cock pheasant in a snow-covered field. I like to see muskrat houses and beaver dams on the snow- and ice-covered lakes and wetlands. I like to see owls and eagles sitting in trees, no longer hidden by the dense summer covering of leaves. I like to see the brilliant blue sky on a cold January day, when I feel like there is nothing between me and heaven.

I like walking the dog on a windless day with the snow crunching under our feet. I like the feeling of accomplishment of shoveling the driveway after a snowfall. I like cups of hot tea, a comfortable chair, an afghan, and a good book. I like the excuse of having to stay inside because it’s “too cold,” and I like going outside when it “warms up” to above zero (Fahrenheit). I like watching the kids play in the snow and slide down the hill. (I don’t enjoy doing it so much anymore, because my feet get cold and going down the hill on a sled hurts much more as an adult than it does as a child.)

I’ve lived in warmer climes, and I can appreciate the convenience of not having to worry about snow and ice. For all that, I love the winters in Minnesota. I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else.

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The Gobbler

When I started running again, I knew I needed to set a goal or it would be too easy to stop. Since I was using the Couch to 5K app, I decided to look around for a 5K. I was a little nervous about the coming change in seasons, but I set my sights on a local pre-Thanksgiving Day race. It was nearby, and I thought I would be ready by November 23.

I wasn’t ready. As November started, I was nervously checking the training schedule and the calendar. I thought I would be near the middle of week 7 (out of 9 weeks), running about 28 minutes or (with luck) 2.75 miles at a stretch. The problem was, I had committed to substitute teaching for three days around the middle of the month, and I was nervous about running early in the morning those days. I didn’t want to injure myself or so tire myself out that I couldn’t teach. Commitments in the evenings meant it would be difficult to squeeze in a run after working, too. I tried, I really did, but it wasn’t possible. Oh well, I thought, I can run on Saturday and definitely the following Monday and Wednesday, so I can be close to being able to run the distance.

It was not to be. Friday evening, after my third day of subbing, we were driving to a concert, and I could feel my throat starting to hurt, my sinuses filling up, my ears becoming plugged. Uh, oh. Yes, it was a cold, which developed into a sinus infection. I lost two weeks of running, and I did not run the 5K on the 23rd.

A few years ago, a marvelous co-worker, Paula, started an unofficial Thanksgiving Day race 5K, which she named “The Gobbler.” She had emailed the school community about it and posted a sign in the break room. She stressed that it was unofficial: untimed, not a precise 5K distance. I was more nervous about running this, though, than an official race. Among the hundreds gathered for the official race, I didn’t think I would see anyone I knew (and vice versa). I could be faceless, another old amateur showing up for her first race. On the other hand, the local race would have far fewer people. Many of them were the people I had heard talking about running over the summer and fall. They had inspired me, and I love them for it, but they are serious runners. I knew that I wouldn’t be up to their speed, and I didn’t want to be embarrassed as I waddled along the course.

I finally decided to show up and run, at least as much as I would be able to run. I had missed at least 5 training sessions, and I wasn’t sure how much the sinus infection had affected me. Still, I decided to try it, knowing that I’d probably need to take a break or two.

I woke up at 3 in the morning with my left ankle aching like crazy. I have no idea why. I wondered if I’d be able to sleep any more, much less run. I did finally get some more sleep, but it still ached when I woke up. Fortunately, the pain eased after some stretches. By the time I put on my running clothes, I was feeling anxious. I wasn’t sure if I could make it, and I didn’t know how the cold weather was going to affect my breathing. I had run a few times in the cold, but usually I ran inside. I also didn’t want anyone to laugh at me, and I could picture several humiliating scenarios from tripping and falling to my ankle giving out and being forced to bum a ride from someone. As I was driving to the starting area, I was so nervous that I was afraid I was going to vomit.

Paula welcomed me with a smile and a hug, went over the route with me, and went on to help the next person. Another friend, the Incomparable Julie, who not only teaches my children but helps me keep a grip on reality, also gave me a hug and cheered me on. “I haven’t run in two weeks,” I moaned. “It’s ok,” she said. “You can walk when you need to.”

It was cold out: approximately 25 degrees. The breeze made it feel colder, and I wondered if my layers were going to be enough. Despite gloves, my fingers were going numb, and I could feel my feet getting cold. I listened to some of the other runners talking. This was a baby race for many of them, not even long enough to satisfy their training regimen. “I already put in a couple of miles,” I heard someone say. “I won’t want to run after dinner today, so I figured I get it in early.”

I was so out of my league.

Paula climbed up on the back of her pickup truck and announced that she would be starting the runners first with the walkers to follow. The amazing thing is that I didn’t even think of starting out walking. I was there to run. I had decided to run with the C25K app, as well, figuring it could count as another training session. As we started out, I pressed the start button on the app, and the voice said, “Brisk walk.” “Oh,” I thought, “I guess I could have started out with the walkers,” but I was already in the pack of runners (near the back, of course), jogging across the street and heading out onto the course.

Julie was running with her two daughters (grades 3 and 5). The jogged past me, and I heard her say, “We can walk if we need to.” I thought that maybe I’d catch up with them once they slowed down, but I didn’t see them again until I made it back to the start.

Two middle school girls jogged past. “We don’t have to run a six-minute mile,” one said to the other. I chuckled grimly. I have never run a six-minute mile, and it’s unlikely that I ever will.

Lots of other people moved past me, but I wasn’t falling completely behind. On the bridge over the highway, with the wind blowing cold, I actually passed a couple of other women. They would pass me a few minutes later, but I felt like I accomplished something to pass anyone. (And I passed them again later and ended up finishing before they did. I admit to feeling a little proud about that.)

I think I ran for about a mile before I needed to walk. I could tell that I had not run in several days, and maybe I was still recovering from my cold. I noticed, though, that I was able to find and keep a rhythm. My stride did not have any of the awkward jolting I had experienced when I had first started running a few months ago. It was a comfortable, if slow, stride. If it weren’t for needing to catch my breath, I could have kept running.

I had to walk twice more, but I finished the course at a jog. Paula passed me a water bottle and told me I did a great job. I started walking around the parking lot to catch my breath. It took a few seconds for me to register that someone was saying “Good job!” to me. It was one of Julie’s daughters. She and her sister were sitting in their car, relaxing after their run, and she was leaning out of the door to smile at me. I stammered thanks and kept walking. I wish I had praised them. What amazing kids.

Julie found me a few moments later and asked to take my picture. She let me wipe my face first, which I appreciated. Running in cold weather makes my nose run. She sent me the picture later, and it looks just like I felt: proud, amazed, happy. Julie asked me if I felt good, and first I said no and laughed, but a few moments later I corrected myself. “Yes,” I said. “It felt good to do it.”

gobbler pic

It did. I was tired for the remainder of the day, and I was in bed by 8:30 that night. I was sore the next day, but I managed to run again today. (I went to the community center and ran on the indoor track. I had to walk twice during this workout, but I am amazed that I could do it at all.) I’m thinking about how I can keep running through the winter, and I look forward to a real race for the spring. I hope by then that I can run the 3.1 miles without having to walk, but if I can’t, that’s ok, too.