“Silently, like thoughts that come and go, the snowflakes fall, each one a gem.” – William Hamilton Gibson
In the dead of the winter, while so many are anxiously awaiting the return of spring, I have found my love for this season on the tracks of a nordic ski trail.
Winter in Central Oregon is magical. Being just minutes from a well maintained cross-country trail system means one can easily escape for a lunch break ski, or sneak in an end of the day trek up one of the snow-covered buttes. In such a place, it is easy for me to find the joy hidden within these long, dark, cold days.
Strapped into my bright orange skate skis, entirely enveloped by a landscape of white snow and tall green pines, my anxious energy begins to dissipate. As I skate forward, I move from the head and back into the body. I return home. At the end of a ski, I am left feeling depleted and cold, but somehow lighter. The car’s heater radiates warmth, thawing me out as my eyes become droopy and my body surrenders into a state of rest.
Yes, while many may despise winter, I welcome winter like the good friend she is, who I have missed and eagerly awaited our next connection.
I find my winter when I ski. That is how I connect to her – the energy and lessons that she has to offer me. Once out on a trail, away from the people fidgeting with their ski bindings and glove straps, all that is left is this vast blanket of white. And in this vastness, distractions are limited, the noise of the world is silenced, and the senses narrowed. Forest lies on either side, lining the way forward. All I can hear is the clank of my two skis gently tapping now and again as I skate onward. My world becomes smaller and yet expanded simultaneously. I am reminded of just how important it is to carve out space and time for the activities that fill me up, for this is how life is meant to be lived. In that same breath, I am also reminded of just how small I really am, how little my daily worries and challenges actually matter. A much needed shift in perspective.
As I ski, my lungs begin to burn from the exertion. My hair spills out of my hat, falling in loose tendrils, freezing and framing my face with little ice crystals. My fingers and toes grow a little numb, and so I wiggle them in effort to keep the blood steadily flowing. Through these sensations I am aware of my own “aliveness”.
When I return to the car, I can’t wait to peel the wet layers from my skin. I collapse into the passenger seat of my Dad’s truck, content to let him drive us home. We blast the heat and the ice in my hair begins to melt, my fingers prickle as the warm air permeates their frozen tips. As my body warms, I consider the critical juxtaposition of cold and warmth. We need both in order to experience either. Discomfort to experience comfort, sadness to experience joy, winter to experience spring and then summer.
I connect with winter through my time on a pair of skies. Through the rolling hills of white, through the cold that seeps in, through the burning in my lungs as I propel myself down a trail.
I am leaving Oregon’s winter tomorrow, returning to the mild temps of Southern California. I couldn’t leave without saying thank you to the three wonderful weeks of snow that she blessed me.
Not everyone loves winter, and that is okay. Whatever side you may fall on, I ask you to contemplate your own feelings around this season. What might she be able to offer you? How might you find, if not joy, at least some sense of meaning or peace in these longer, darker, colder days? How might winter be shaping you for what is to come with Spring?
“Winter knows how to hush, still, listen, so the soul can speak.” – Angie Weiland
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