Reindeer Games
NOT like Monopoly!
My people are snow people. We embrace our identities as Minnesotans: hearty stock who do not quail at any but the most frigid of below-zero temperatures — and even then, we’re probably going to take a sauna and jump in the snowbank or crick afterwards.
I was all of two and a half years old when my parents put me on downhill skis. My mom coached the girls’ high school downhill team, and my dad was on Ski Patrol, so it was only natural that their offspring should join them on the slopes. I was a speed demon — my mom and I would go up the tow rope together singing, “Suuuuuuuper Susie!” I barreled down the Bunny Hill with glee, over and over again. Unfortunately, I wasn’t great at stopping, and the Bunny Hill was fairly narrow. My parents watched with mounting horror as I sailed down the hill… face first into a tree.
I was fine — my face mostly recovered (and the photos are excellent), though we are pretty sure that’s where the bump on my nose originated. (I enhanced said bump a few years ago.)
Eventually my parents moved away from downhill skiing (I think for everyone’s safety, not just mine!) to cross country skiing. My most vivid memories of childhood winters are being in the woods on cross country skis. My dad, especially, was passionate about the amount of groomed trails in our area. He was instrumental in the creation of lighted trails in the forest behind our high school, and in ensuring designated trails for traditional skiiers — meaning that cross country “skaters” and snowmobiles couldn’t use them and mess up the tracks.
Nearly every weekend in the winter we were out in one forest or the other. Sometimes other families would join us, and we’d end up back at the trailhead, drinking pop or hot chocolate and eating sandwiches. My parents had parties based around skiing, with bonfires and hot-tubbing as evening approached.
My sense memories of these winters are of the hushed quiet of the woods, nature sounds both muffled and amplified by snow. I remember feeling graceful as my skis swooshed along the tracks, and loving that the hard work made it too warm to wear my jacket and mittens. The sensation of sliding through trails with deep banks of snow on either side, only wearing my wool sweater with my snow pants, made me feel strong. I channeled my Norwegian ancestors as I glided silently through the woods, breathing in fresh air scented with pine.
When I was in elementary school, my home town held a winter festival for several years: Vinterslass. The idea was to celebrate the joys of winter (because some of us forget about them and get dark and grumpy). There was a winter parade, a cross country ski race (The Vinterloppet), an ice sculpture contest, and SO MUCH COCOA.
As my parents grew a bit older, they transitioned from cross country skis to snowshoes. Again, they were in mind of safety while still enjoying the Great North Woods. Snowshoeing isn’t quite as elegant a sport as cross country skiing, however it is a terrific way to explore the winter wilderness. There are miles of trails in Itasca County — the pride and joy of my dad — or you can break your own trail through the woods across from your house! It’s hard work either way, and it was fun to discover that, as an adult, I’m still just as delighted to be able to shed my jacket and tromp through the woods in a wool sweater, stocking cap, and snow pants.
We are in the dark time right now (literally… but also figuratively), as we approach the winter solstice and the longest day of the year. I’m typing this from my classroom, looking out the window at a nasty winter storm and thinking I should probably get going home. It can be easy to hate on the cold and the dark, but it helps to remember there are things we can do, even when there are so many that we can’t. I can’t swim in a lake, but Billy can go ice fishing this weekend and bring us home a fish dinner. I can’t walk outside barefoot, but I can lie [fall] down and make a snow angel (as long as someone helps me up). I can’t look up at the sun and feel its light and warmth, but I can cuddle up with a book and a cat and a glass of wine, and bask in the light of our beautiful Christmas Tree.
For we are Snow People.
Thanks for reading.
Love, Susie
What a great family photo. You’re description of cross country skiing ALMOST made me want to take up the sport again.
The way winter activities can shift from downhill to cross-country to snowshoeing as priorities change really captures something real about how we adapt to different seasons of life. That bit about how the hard work of skiing made it too warm for a jacket - there's somethng to how physical exertion in cold weather creates this weird comfort zone that's hard to explain to anyone who hasn't experienced it. Been thinking lately about how we tend to frame winter as something to 'survive' rather than engage with, but communities that actually build traditions around it (like Vinterslass) seem way happier. The seasonal darkness becomes more managable when there's actual social infrastructure built around making it bearable instead of just enduring it alone.