Skipping for snow

I have to confess to taking an unholy pleasure in winter. I hate being cold as much as the next crazy person who decided that living somewhere we have 6 months of snow and more months of cold, but there's something about winter. Don't get me wrong; I love fall and I love spring and I love summer, even with the mosquitoes, but something about winter. Maybe its the fact that in the first eleven years of my life, I saw snow fall once - I was ten and it was right before Christmas and it snowed in San Francisco. I was at the grocery store with my mom, in a red dress after church, and we came out of the grocery store and there was snow. I don't think I even had a jacket. I skipped all the way to the car.

Pseudo-groomed nordic trail at Clearwater Forest Camp, in Garrison, Minnesota.

Anyway. I love snow because growing up in San Francisco, we had two weather types: sunny and windy, or cold and foggy. There were no seasons, but I spent summers in New Mexico and so had an appreciation for what summer meant. Winter, though; I didn't understand it. I associated snow with mountain-tops; I didn't go sledding until I was eleven. Clearly, a deprived childhood. Despite that inauspicious beginning, I love winter. Something about the sharpness of the air, and the softness of the landscape, the way in the city it never gets truly dark because the snow in the air captures the streetlights. This winter has had some of the most spectacular snowfalls I've had the pleasure of seeing. Our blizzard in early December in Iowa, which caused a two day cancellation of school - and a day long closure of the freeways.

My bike on the porch the day after the storm. That snow is just drift;
you can't actually see the foot plus on the stairs and the yard.

And the Christmas Eve storm in Minneapolis, where we got eight - ten inches of the heaviest snow I have ever had the pleasure of shoveling. Snow and ice transform the city into something ethereal and magical. And not just the parks and lakes, but the whole city - downtown, apartment complexes, even the plethora of freeways. Plus, everyone is so friendly - its hard not to be, since we're all slipping and sliding and shoveling and shivering together.

The boathouse and lake from the deck of Leaning Tree, at Clearwater Forest Camp.

Plus, I love being outside in the winter. I love nordic skiing, even though I'm not so great at it. I like being able to walk on lakes, though I have a trapped-under-ice phobia. (Several friends and I were discussing irrational fears, and when I mentioned that particular phobia, it was helpfully pointed out to me that being afraid of being trapped under ice in Minnesota is not, in fact, an irrational fear. Thanks.) I like the way everyone slows down, driving or walking. I have the skills of a five-year old kid on ice skates, (that's not entirely true; I went skating with a friend, and his five-year-old sister skated circles around me) but I like skating. If I ever learn how to downhill down anything steeper than the bunny hills, I'm sure I'd love that too. Or snow-boarding. Heck, I even like walking from my apartment to class when its ten below and I'm wearing so many layers I feel like the kid from "A Christmas Story."

Me, skiing at Kathio State Park, outside Garrison, MN.

So, yes. I take an unholy pleasure in winter. And I read the saddest story in the newspaper the other day: from here on out, its supposed to be a warmer winter than usual.