We pulled out of the driveway quickly one February morning because the sidewalk snow plow was moving towards us at a fair clip and we didn’t want to jump the snowdrift that it would leave. This sturdy little machine was being used to widen the sidewalk and it’s auger cut into the three foot bank sending snow flying out of the chute. Escaping just in time, we crested the hill and were passed by a man on a snowmobile. I guessed that he was heading out onto the ice to do some ice fishing. Snowmobiles drive on the roads in this tiny village just like cars and trucks and at the beach, they easily drive onto the white expanse of the frozen bay.
Next, we passed a man carrying four Tim Horton’s cups in a
cardboard tray. He looked old enough to
live at the Senior’s residence that we had just passed. He was walking on the road instead of the icy
sidewalk which is also quite common since the roads are sanded.. The Horton’s was about a five minute walk
from where he was. I wondered who he was
bringing hot coffee or tea or chocolate to.
I wondered if this was part of his morning ritual. I chuckled at the very common winter scenes
that I had just passed. It was like a Tim
Horton’s TV commercial playing out before my eyes.
We passed the post office with masked people lined up
outside, waiting to get their mail. Just
two people at a time were allowed in and the people waited patiently, making
small talk as they did. And then we were
on the highway heading towards the Wildlife Centre to cross country ski. The weather was finally warm enough to ski
and we wanted to get out early enough before the rising temperatures made the
snow sticky. December was too warm for
good snow and January was too cold to ski so this was my first time out skiing
this winter.
My legs and arms remembered what to do and we set out on
the trail. There was a fine snow falling
that melted instantly on my face. My skis
had trouble gliding and I could feel them sticking to the snow. Our best efforts had not resulted in great
snow but we continued on nevertheless.
The trick was to stay in motion.
If we stopped, then the snow would stick in great clods like mud to
boots. All my attention was on the feel
of the glide of my skis. My attention
was on feeling the intersection between the bottom of my skis and the snow. Every now and then, I could glide easily and
then like putting the brakes on, I would hit a sticky patch and then I had to
push myself along with muscles and poles.
We came to a part of the forest where a lot of Chickadees
live. These bold little birds will eat
sunflower seeds right out of your hand.
I could hear them calling softly at first and then with more
volume. They fluttered along beside us insistently
calling. “I hear you, but we can’t
stop,” I apologized. We continued along
the two and a half kilometer trail getting warmer and warmer. My total focus was on the feel of my skis and
the sound of my measured breath. Every
now and then, I would look up and greet the trees and then turn my attention
back to the snow, my muscles and breath.
It wasn’t until I was back at the car and cooling down that
I realized that the whole ski was a kind of mindfulness exercise. In addition to this, I realized that I was
using distance perception to gather information about the snow through the
feelings in my body. My thoughts were
interrupted as we drive out of the parking lot and a sensor began beeping. I got out of the car, opened up the back
hatch, slammed it shut and got back into the car. The beeping continued so I repeated the task,
this time pushing my skis a little further into the car. This time the beeping stopped. I realized that we listen to and interact
with all kinds of things all the time, snow conditions, car sensors,
chickadees, our own bodies, blood and breath as well as the people in our
lives. Often I do this on auto-pilot but today I was aware of the dynamic of the
web that we are all a part of.
Later that week, the temperature was too cold to ski but perfect for walking through the forest on the crunchy well packed snow. The sky was a cloudless blue and the sun shone brightly through the trees. We came to a grove of Eastern Hemlocks on the forest trail. They always bid me to stop and visit and so I did their bidding.
I faced the sun and felt it’s February rays warm my skyward
angled face. There had been a small
snowfall the night before which now adorned the trees, green coniferous and bare
brown deciduous alike. Little gusts of
wind blew the snow from their branches. Tiny
ice crystals from the snow were carried by the wind towards me, twinkling rainbow colours in
the sunshine. It felt like travelling in
space with stars whizzing by me or like driving in a snowstorm with the
high beams on. I knew I was standing still,
but it felt as if I was moving forward.
I watched the tiny little “stars” until the wind changed
direction. Now they were moving past me
from my right to my left. I let out a
big sigh and the cloud of water vapour from my mouth partially obscured the
stars for a moment before it dissolved into the air. It seemed to me that the trees were exhaling
water as solid ice crystals and I was exhaling water as a gas. The gaseous and solid water that were back-lit
by the sun, danced before my child-like eyes. I stood there for a time and eventually the
wind died down, breaking the spell and allowing me to continue along my way
forever changed.
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