It’s been cold, 18 degrees at mid-day. Still, I was thinking that Michigan is really a special place in the winter and I need to get out there and quit hiding from it. I am so glad that I forced myself to bundle up, strap on a pair of snowshoes, and explore the six inches of fluffy snow that fell overnight.
I went out without company, because I’m sure the dogs would yank me flat on my face if I tried to juggle two leashes and ski poles. I wanted my husband to come with me but he begged off. I had to get past the crusty driveway first and the grips caught and almost sent me sprawling before I remembered the technique. After that it was just me and the quiet “thwomp, thwomp” as I carefully lifted and set down one snowshoe after the other.
The snow was so fresh that all that was left of the tracks from walking the dogs yesterday were faint dents in the path. There were no fresh tracks from the local wildlife yet. Well, I take that back–the snowmobilers had packed down a trail along the highway. They can hardly wait to get out there when we get a decent snow. Most of my adventure was on our private land, though, under the trees and across the prairie.
I realized when I took off the snowshoes that I’d forgotten how they worked and had gone out with two left feet. Maybe that is the source of some of my awkwardness. I’ll be ready the next time. Maybe tomorrow afternoon I’ll play again.