Saturday morning dawned quiet and still and the early morning photo of Jenn and Richard's back yard showed a truly magical setting.
We headed to a town about 8 km away where Jenn teaches and TvE takes cross country ski lessons. It was the local ski meet with appropriate length courses for everyone from 3 to whatever. It was the first ski race for both TvE and R. They were fitted with timing chips though their times were not given -- I guess it was to get them used to the whole routine. The clock counted down 30 seconds between each entrant and beeped 5 short seconds and then a long sound for each to start. R, being only 3, went with her Dad beside her. TvE was very excited to go and had a great start and whole adventure, climbing the hills well and pushing hard on the downhills and straights. Everyone -- yes even the adults, got a prize at the end with placing medals for all 9 years old and up. There was friendly competition from 3 other local ski clubs with altogether 100 entrants. As a total spectator, I was most impressed with the positive encouraging spirit for all.
Saturday afternoon it snowed and snowed. It was necessary to shovel the driveway.
Shoveling snow is something very familiar from my childhood. I lived on a farm in the late 50s and 60s which had a 275m driveway. It was poorly positioned so that wind from the west regularly dumped snow in drifts over the drive. Ours was a farm which needed 10 ton feed trucks to be able to come in weekly to supply the chickens and then trucks to take the birds to market -- about 4,000 at a time. When we first lived on the farm, we did not have a snowblower and my Dad rigged a diagonal board on the old Massey Harris tractor with which he could push some of the snow. It was not adjustable so there was still lots of the white stuff which had to be shoveled by hand. It was a family work force, so we all participated. My childhood memories of snow are the shoveling kind, not the sledding variety. And we went to school at a time when girls still had to wear skirts and walking the 0.5 miles west to the bus stop in tights, my legs were always cold. No need to wonder why I hate winter.
So we shoveled on Saturday and then again on Sunday because we were blessed with about 60 cm total. We piled it on the lawn making a huge snow mountain which the little girls use as a sledding slope. They wanted to make snow bunnies -- I even managed one they could sit on. I have, probably for the first time in my life, snow pants that keep me warm enough to be outside. I had a wool base layer which got a fleece over it and then was covered with a windproof waterproof shell. I wore mini mitts inside big Omniheat mitts. I had a neck warmer, a scarf, a knit hat, and a hood. I had double socks inside big insulated boots. I can say, that I was not cold. I navigated through the snow, the girls slid and laughed. We built a snow fort. It was fun.
However, at home, snow usually means a raw wind and shoveling the sidewalk for the dog walkers. Unless it is icy, I try to get in my walk outside, rather than on the eliptical. It is determination, not fun.
So, I blame my perception of winter on my childhood. The childhood of the 4 grandkids is about skiing and sledding in the snow. We all have our long-held attitudes which define us, but if I look at it through my grandchildren's eyes, I may be able to change that perception.
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