The kids had a professional day yesterday, so I decided it was a good time for a Very Small Excursion.
Well, not small in terms of carbon footprint. Our destination was 45 minutes of highway driving in both directions, though we did drive the Prius. Regardless, our plan was small in terms of ambition. Whereas sometimes we set out with far grander plans, bound for the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston or the hiking trails of Mount Manadnock, somehow I sensed this week that the excursion most likely to succeed would be an easy one.
Our first destination was the Post Road Art Center in Marlborough to see an exhibit I’d written an article about a few weeks ago. An art gallery sold $25 bags of art supplies, each bag identical, and then held a contest for artists to see what they could create using only the contents of the bag. I was curious to see how many different ways a canvas, an orange marker, a tube of blue paint, and a few other art supplies could be deployed.
Dozens, as it turned out. We spent an hour examining all the different entries. The kids – Holly, Tim and Tim’s friend Will – took their time examining each piece of art and offering observations on the artists’ different interpretations. Being able to vote for a winner lent extra intrigue to the process; they discussed at length whether to vote based on visual appeal alone or on creativity of approach in terms of how the variety of materials was incorporated. Finally, Tim voted for the one he found most beautiful; Will voted for the one he thought was most difficult to execute; and Holly, who in the end couldn’t bear to choose just one, appropriated my ballot to cast one vote for the piece she considered most detailed and another for the one she liked the looks of best.
From there, we drove to Wegman’s, the mega-supermarket new to Massachusetts. I’d read about it when it opened a few month ago and tried to describe to the kids what I knew, but none of us was prepared for the magnitude of the lunch area, with its row upon row of buffet tables, each dedicated to a different kind of cuisine. It took us a full thirty minutes to take in all the options before we made our choices: cheese pizza for Holly, fried chicken for Will, Chinese sweet and sour barbequed chicken for Tim, Indian curried vegetables and brown rice for me, and tortilla chips with salsa for everyone to share. But the greatest attraction of Wegman’s turned out to the self-service soda machines operated via by touchpad screens. The kids were mesmerized.
It was an easy day and a fun one, and it reminded me of the extent to which less can be more when it comes to planning outings. Even with small-scale plans, we’d all learned a bit about art and retail. The boys got into a fairly sophisticated discussion over lunch about the amount of revenue an enormous lunch hall like the one at Wegman’s generates compared to what its operating costs might be; then the conversation turned to the question of how that particular location was selected for the state’s first Wegman’s, and the kids forayed into topics such as target consumer groups, local zoning laws, traffic patterns, and competitive retailing.
When my children were really little, I would remark sometimes how little it took to come up with a plan that kept them amused. We could board the train in Concord, ride it to West Concord, cross to the other side of the tracks and do the same thing in reverse and they’d consider it a big day. We could read a picture book on a park bench and it was something to tell Daddy about when he got home. We could throw pebbles into a river from a bridge and they’d recount it during Sharing Time at preschool the next day.
Now that one child is a teenager and the other isn’t far behind, it seems only natural to me that their standards are higher. I try to look for opportunities that are more intellectually stimulating or physically challenging when we have a chunk of free time. But yesterday, I learned anew that sometimes simplest is best. As long as there’s a really cool touch-screen soda dispenser somewhere along the way.
Showing posts with label excursion. Show all posts
Showing posts with label excursion. Show all posts
Friday, March 16, 2012
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
A short excursion on a sunny afternoon
It’s always pleasing when the most unplanned excursions turn out to be so much fun. For all the time I spend scrutinizing the family calendar and reading up on regional cultural highlights, figuring out which weekend we might be able to visit this museum or that landmark only to see the plans nudged aside by bad weather, Tim’s baseball schedule, too much work for Rick, or the out-and-out preference all four of us often cannot resist to just stay home when the opportunity arises – as I call it, the ever-present fine balance between agoraphobia and cocooning -- sometimes something that required no planning, research or advance ticket sales at all just happens and we have a great time. Familial serendipity.
Yesterday afternoon was just such an experience, though it was almost too minor to even term an excursion. I received an email saying that a library book Tim was on the reserve list for was finally available, and Tim asked me if I’d pick it up for him. Holly climbed off the bus cheerful and dynamic, unlike the day before; she skipped down the driveway, making me think maybe she was good for more than an afternoon snack and some coloring, which is how she often opts to spend the hour or two before dinner. The weather was sunny and cool.
“Want to go to the library with me to pick up a book for Tim?” I asked Holly. “If you’ll walk or ride your bike, you can buy a snack at Ferns.” Ferns is our local country store and it’s across the street from the library; both are exactly a mile from our house. In my ongoing efforts to see Holly spend time outdoors, active and exercising, I often couple a small treat with a walk or bike ride. It’s less of an issue with Tim because he plays so much baseball at this time of year.
Holly said she’d go with me, which I didn’t expect, but even more surprising was that when I asked Tim if he wanted to come along just so as not to overlook him entirely, he said he would. That was unusual; he usually opts for homework, reading and computer games in the late afternoon hours. I’m not sure what enticed him yesterday, but I was happy as the three of us set out on our bikes at about 4:30. It felt like a fine way to take advantage of a sunny mild afternoon, one in which we still had hours of sunlight left in the day although at other times of year it would have been dark by then already.
And despite the lack of planning and anticipation, we had a great time. Not even a minor bike malfunction could mar the fun: outside the post office, Tim’s chain got stuck in a gear sprocket, and although I know how to fix a derailed chain, I couldn’t get this one unstuck. As we stood there attempting to fix it, the postmaster himself came out of the building and pried it back into place for us. I was impressed with his abilities and tremendously grateful for his willingness to leave the office to help us.
We continued on our way, picked up the book, and then sat on the farmer’s porch at Ferns, basking in the late-afternoon western exposure. The kids ate ice cream sandwiches; Holly left me a quarter of hers to finish, which was a bonus I never expect these days.
It was a small and simple excursion, but a reminder of how much fun it is when circumstances just fall into place like that. By bedtime, a bad cold was lodging its way into my head and chest, and biking was the last thing I felt like doing. But I was so glad we’d taken advantage of an open and sunny afternoon. Sometimes I’m disappointed when plans I’ve taken great pains to organize fail to execute, but then I remember spontaneous pleasures like yesterday and I’m reminded of how things tend to balance out, one way or another, as long as you don’t work too hard at it.
Yesterday afternoon was just such an experience, though it was almost too minor to even term an excursion. I received an email saying that a library book Tim was on the reserve list for was finally available, and Tim asked me if I’d pick it up for him. Holly climbed off the bus cheerful and dynamic, unlike the day before; she skipped down the driveway, making me think maybe she was good for more than an afternoon snack and some coloring, which is how she often opts to spend the hour or two before dinner. The weather was sunny and cool.
“Want to go to the library with me to pick up a book for Tim?” I asked Holly. “If you’ll walk or ride your bike, you can buy a snack at Ferns.” Ferns is our local country store and it’s across the street from the library; both are exactly a mile from our house. In my ongoing efforts to see Holly spend time outdoors, active and exercising, I often couple a small treat with a walk or bike ride. It’s less of an issue with Tim because he plays so much baseball at this time of year.
Holly said she’d go with me, which I didn’t expect, but even more surprising was that when I asked Tim if he wanted to come along just so as not to overlook him entirely, he said he would. That was unusual; he usually opts for homework, reading and computer games in the late afternoon hours. I’m not sure what enticed him yesterday, but I was happy as the three of us set out on our bikes at about 4:30. It felt like a fine way to take advantage of a sunny mild afternoon, one in which we still had hours of sunlight left in the day although at other times of year it would have been dark by then already.
And despite the lack of planning and anticipation, we had a great time. Not even a minor bike malfunction could mar the fun: outside the post office, Tim’s chain got stuck in a gear sprocket, and although I know how to fix a derailed chain, I couldn’t get this one unstuck. As we stood there attempting to fix it, the postmaster himself came out of the building and pried it back into place for us. I was impressed with his abilities and tremendously grateful for his willingness to leave the office to help us.
We continued on our way, picked up the book, and then sat on the farmer’s porch at Ferns, basking in the late-afternoon western exposure. The kids ate ice cream sandwiches; Holly left me a quarter of hers to finish, which was a bonus I never expect these days.
It was a small and simple excursion, but a reminder of how much fun it is when circumstances just fall into place like that. By bedtime, a bad cold was lodging its way into my head and chest, and biking was the last thing I felt like doing. But I was so glad we’d taken advantage of an open and sunny afternoon. Sometimes I’m disappointed when plans I’ve taken great pains to organize fail to execute, but then I remember spontaneous pleasures like yesterday and I’m reminded of how things tend to balance out, one way or another, as long as you don’t work too hard at it.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
A bike ride, a fall, and a lesson
It was a case of felicitous happenstance that the kids had no school – a professional day – on what turned out to be a beautiful early-spring day, one of the first of the year. The sun shone and temperatures reached nearly sixty degrees. Tim went over to play at a friend’s house; Holly and I headed out for her first solo biking excursion, retracing the mile-long route via gravel footpath to the town Center that she had done many times on the tagalong attached to my bike but never on her own two-wheeler.
I was apprehensive. Holly developed her biking abilities last fall. First we practiced on a paved track, then in a nearby neighborhood with wide, flat, interlacing streets. The footpaths in our town are, by design, rough and unpaved, but this makes them challenging for small riders. The terrain is uneven and the paths wind a lot, so attention to both positioning and steering is critical. I wasn’t at all sure Holly was up to the challenge, but she insisted she wanted to try.
As I pedaled along behind her, it occurred to me that there’s really no way for a beginner to learn to ride a bike without falling a fair amount. No matter how much I coached her along, it was bound to happen. Bicyclists fall; it’s that simple. In general she seemed fairly steady and quite confident, but I knew it was inevitable that she’d take a spill at some point. There’s just no other way to develop biking skills than by practicing and trying and occasionally wiping out.
She did well heading up to the Center. On the way back, she started going a little too fast down a slight slope, lost control, and flew into the gravel. She skinned her knee and the side of her palm. She cried a lot. A police officer who happened to be driving by pulled over, lights flashing, to check on her, which I thought was very kind of him if a bit of an overreaction. For a moment, being a typical twenty-first century parent, I wondered if it was possible he’d say I was doing something wrong. Had I overlooked some obvious safety measure or allowed her in an area where she shouldn’t be biking? But he merely echoed what I had been thinking: Kids learning to ride bikes fall. There’s no way around it.
Holly and I sat on a stone wall until she felt well enough to stand up. Then she said, “I don’t want to bike anymore!”
We were just under a mile from home. “We can walk our bikes if you’d rather,” I offered.
“I want to drive!” she wailed.
I thought about it. Fetching the car wasn’t out of the question. We happened to be across the street from the home of a close friend of ours; I could park Holly there while I biked home to get the car, or I could ask her for a ride. We were also close to the library, and even though I know it’s not ideal on principle to leave kids at the library, I also knew she could rest unnoticed for fifteen minutes while I hurried home for the car.
But I also know how quick Holly is to flare up when she’s upset and how equally quick she is to calm down. Which made me suspect that if I didn’t leap in to find an elaborate solution to the problem – one that involved leaving her and her bike while I hurried home for the car and came back again to pick her up – she would soon get past the feeling that she needed a ride.
I fought the temptation to come up with a complicated solution, something that would assure that Holly would stop crying. I made myself refrain from trying to fix everything instantly. “We can’t drive; we don’t have the car,” I said calmly. “If you don’t feel like biking, why don’t we just walk our bikes for a while?”
I gave her a drink of water and dabbed off the drops of blood with a Kleenex. We started walking. After less than two minutes, she said in a very tear-worn voice, “I want to ride now.”
So we rode the rest of the way home. No more accidents; no more tears. And I had the satisfaction of knowing I’d had a chance to practice overcoming one of my faults as a parent: being too quick to try to fix things when they go wrong. I’d held back, made myself be patient, waited out Holly’s need to go home in the car. I’d suppressed my natural tendency to start making arrangements and devising solutions and generally being as proactive as possible to ensure that everyone is happy and everything works out. “We don’t have the car; let’s just start walking,” I’d said instead. And walking had worked. Walking had calmed Holly down until she was ready to ride again.
It wasn’t merely the age-old lesson of getting back on the horse – or bike – when you’re thrown off, though there was that too: certainly Holly ended the day feeling like a successful bicyclist rather than one whose first excursion had been cut short with a bad fall. And that’s an important one. But for me as a parent, it’s even more valuable to remember not everything that happens to the kids is a problem waiting for me to step in and fix it. This time, fixing wasn’t necessary; only waiting was needed. And waiting was exactly what worked.
I was apprehensive. Holly developed her biking abilities last fall. First we practiced on a paved track, then in a nearby neighborhood with wide, flat, interlacing streets. The footpaths in our town are, by design, rough and unpaved, but this makes them challenging for small riders. The terrain is uneven and the paths wind a lot, so attention to both positioning and steering is critical. I wasn’t at all sure Holly was up to the challenge, but she insisted she wanted to try.
As I pedaled along behind her, it occurred to me that there’s really no way for a beginner to learn to ride a bike without falling a fair amount. No matter how much I coached her along, it was bound to happen. Bicyclists fall; it’s that simple. In general she seemed fairly steady and quite confident, but I knew it was inevitable that she’d take a spill at some point. There’s just no other way to develop biking skills than by practicing and trying and occasionally wiping out.
She did well heading up to the Center. On the way back, she started going a little too fast down a slight slope, lost control, and flew into the gravel. She skinned her knee and the side of her palm. She cried a lot. A police officer who happened to be driving by pulled over, lights flashing, to check on her, which I thought was very kind of him if a bit of an overreaction. For a moment, being a typical twenty-first century parent, I wondered if it was possible he’d say I was doing something wrong. Had I overlooked some obvious safety measure or allowed her in an area where she shouldn’t be biking? But he merely echoed what I had been thinking: Kids learning to ride bikes fall. There’s no way around it.
Holly and I sat on a stone wall until she felt well enough to stand up. Then she said, “I don’t want to bike anymore!”
We were just under a mile from home. “We can walk our bikes if you’d rather,” I offered.
“I want to drive!” she wailed.
I thought about it. Fetching the car wasn’t out of the question. We happened to be across the street from the home of a close friend of ours; I could park Holly there while I biked home to get the car, or I could ask her for a ride. We were also close to the library, and even though I know it’s not ideal on principle to leave kids at the library, I also knew she could rest unnoticed for fifteen minutes while I hurried home for the car.
But I also know how quick Holly is to flare up when she’s upset and how equally quick she is to calm down. Which made me suspect that if I didn’t leap in to find an elaborate solution to the problem – one that involved leaving her and her bike while I hurried home for the car and came back again to pick her up – she would soon get past the feeling that she needed a ride.
I fought the temptation to come up with a complicated solution, something that would assure that Holly would stop crying. I made myself refrain from trying to fix everything instantly. “We can’t drive; we don’t have the car,” I said calmly. “If you don’t feel like biking, why don’t we just walk our bikes for a while?”
I gave her a drink of water and dabbed off the drops of blood with a Kleenex. We started walking. After less than two minutes, she said in a very tear-worn voice, “I want to ride now.”
So we rode the rest of the way home. No more accidents; no more tears. And I had the satisfaction of knowing I’d had a chance to practice overcoming one of my faults as a parent: being too quick to try to fix things when they go wrong. I’d held back, made myself be patient, waited out Holly’s need to go home in the car. I’d suppressed my natural tendency to start making arrangements and devising solutions and generally being as proactive as possible to ensure that everyone is happy and everything works out. “We don’t have the car; let’s just start walking,” I’d said instead. And walking had worked. Walking had calmed Holly down until she was ready to ride again.
It wasn’t merely the age-old lesson of getting back on the horse – or bike – when you’re thrown off, though there was that too: certainly Holly ended the day feeling like a successful bicyclist rather than one whose first excursion had been cut short with a bad fall. And that’s an important one. But for me as a parent, it’s even more valuable to remember not everything that happens to the kids is a problem waiting for me to step in and fix it. This time, fixing wasn’t necessary; only waiting was needed. And waiting was exactly what worked.
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Overcoming inertia for a trip to the Institute of Contemporary Art
On Sunday, we took a family excursion to the Institute of Contemporary Art in Boston: both kids, my husband Rick, and me. My mother came with us as well.
This was a big deal for us. We four are not a good family for cultural excursions. We’d rather be doing something physical, something outdoors. We’d rather bike, swim, go boating, or go snowshoeing, as we did last week, than visit a museum.
Often, I can rationalize this fact about us. In my mind, when I propose a trip to a museum or architectural landmark and the rest of the family votes me down, I give them credit for valuing outdoor recreation, for appreciating the pleasures of the fields and woods and country lanes surrounding our house rather than wanting to get into the car and drive for 45 minutes into the city to pay admission to look at art or scientific wonders.
But recently I’ve resolved to try harder to get my family out of our comfort zone. As I wrote about here, there’s a fine line sometimes between appreciating what you have and becoming quasi-agoraphobic. Much of the time I too would far rather read, go for a walk or cook something than pack up and go somewhere. But it’s important to let the outside world in, and I feel like my family is at a point where I have to make it more of a priority.
The Institute of Contemporary Art was a fabulous destination for us. Even if Tim hadn’t been engaged by the contents of the museum, he would have been happy just with the view out over the water; he loves to see boats, both moored and under steam. Holly, my little artist, is always curious about how works of art are made, and the ICA has wonders of all kinds from an artistic perspective: photography, sculpture, even video art. Both kids were fascinated by the giant glass elevator in the center of the building; just watching the elevator and looking out at the harbor could have filled the time for them.
But both found works of art that fascinated them within the collection as well. Tim was mesmerized by a gigantic cube made entirely of straight pins. Holly liked the pink glass brick whose surface looked like water.
I was pleased we’d made the effort to get into the city. I want my kids to feel familiar with Boston, and yet for all of the aforementioned reasons I’m sometimes lazy about driving in with them. I want them to see the skyline, the buildings, the Charles River, the harbor and know that something interesting is about to happen. I want them to respect the diversity of the city, and its history.
At the same time, I understand the pull of inertia. When children are very little, we spend a lot of time trying to entertain them: playing games, arranging visits with other small children, going to child-oriented performances. In a way, it’s such a relief to me that mine entertain themselves so easily now and are so happy to have time at home to pursue their own activities, as they did for much of last week during school vacation. Whereas in earlier years I planned a lot of activities to keep all of us busy, now I have to insist that everyone rouse themselves from what they’re doing and join in a cultural excursion.
So it’s good to have kids who entertain themselves, and it’s also good to rally the troops once in a while and insist that we all get out. Getting to the ICA had been a goal of mine for a while. Each time we do a trip like that, it gets easier to persuade them to join me for the next excursion. There’s a lot to be said for the recreation and nature out where we live, but I need to remember the importance of exposing them to more of the world as well. Even the world just 20 miles away from our quiet rural home.
This was a big deal for us. We four are not a good family for cultural excursions. We’d rather be doing something physical, something outdoors. We’d rather bike, swim, go boating, or go snowshoeing, as we did last week, than visit a museum.
Often, I can rationalize this fact about us. In my mind, when I propose a trip to a museum or architectural landmark and the rest of the family votes me down, I give them credit for valuing outdoor recreation, for appreciating the pleasures of the fields and woods and country lanes surrounding our house rather than wanting to get into the car and drive for 45 minutes into the city to pay admission to look at art or scientific wonders.
But recently I’ve resolved to try harder to get my family out of our comfort zone. As I wrote about here, there’s a fine line sometimes between appreciating what you have and becoming quasi-agoraphobic. Much of the time I too would far rather read, go for a walk or cook something than pack up and go somewhere. But it’s important to let the outside world in, and I feel like my family is at a point where I have to make it more of a priority.
The Institute of Contemporary Art was a fabulous destination for us. Even if Tim hadn’t been engaged by the contents of the museum, he would have been happy just with the view out over the water; he loves to see boats, both moored and under steam. Holly, my little artist, is always curious about how works of art are made, and the ICA has wonders of all kinds from an artistic perspective: photography, sculpture, even video art. Both kids were fascinated by the giant glass elevator in the center of the building; just watching the elevator and looking out at the harbor could have filled the time for them.
But both found works of art that fascinated them within the collection as well. Tim was mesmerized by a gigantic cube made entirely of straight pins. Holly liked the pink glass brick whose surface looked like water.
I was pleased we’d made the effort to get into the city. I want my kids to feel familiar with Boston, and yet for all of the aforementioned reasons I’m sometimes lazy about driving in with them. I want them to see the skyline, the buildings, the Charles River, the harbor and know that something interesting is about to happen. I want them to respect the diversity of the city, and its history.
At the same time, I understand the pull of inertia. When children are very little, we spend a lot of time trying to entertain them: playing games, arranging visits with other small children, going to child-oriented performances. In a way, it’s such a relief to me that mine entertain themselves so easily now and are so happy to have time at home to pursue their own activities, as they did for much of last week during school vacation. Whereas in earlier years I planned a lot of activities to keep all of us busy, now I have to insist that everyone rouse themselves from what they’re doing and join in a cultural excursion.
So it’s good to have kids who entertain themselves, and it’s also good to rally the troops once in a while and insist that we all get out. Getting to the ICA had been a goal of mine for a while. Each time we do a trip like that, it gets easier to persuade them to join me for the next excursion. There’s a lot to be said for the recreation and nature out where we live, but I need to remember the importance of exposing them to more of the world as well. Even the world just 20 miles away from our quiet rural home.
Friday, February 19, 2010
A winter excursion by snowshoe, boot and paw
Midmorning yesterday we went snowshoeing: my aunt Pat, who is visiting from Colorado; my seven-year-old daughter Holly, our dog Belle, and me.
Well, the dog wasn’t showshoeing, just trotting surefootedly through the snow as she always does. And Holly snowshoed only for the first fifty feet or so and then declared that she was sinking farther into the snow with snowshoes on than in just boots, and hadn’t I told her the point of snowshoes was to stay on top of the snow? She said she’d go without the showshoes. Given that she’s the second of my two children to declare snowshoes redundant, I think the kiddie snowshoes are destined for the swap shed.
So Belle trotted, Holly tromped, and Pat and I showshoed, although by the time we’d reached our destination, the center of town one mile away, Pat was having trouble keeping one of her snowshoes on so she decided she’d just carry them.
No matter. I was still enjoying my snowshoes and happy that the rest of the coterie was sticking with the plan to walk to town, snowshoes or none. With our footpath under several inches of snow, I thought it was more fun to march along in my snowshoes than slog through the drifts even if, as Holly pointed out, there was no significant difference in ease of travel. I spend plenty of time throughout the winter slogging through snow in my boots; tromping in snowshoes was just something different and therefore fun.
Mostly I was just glad to be out. It was only the second time I’d put on my snowshoes all winter, and I’m sorry to admit that’s not for lack of snow; it’s that I’m too easily distracted from one of my favorite wintertime activities. I love snowshoeing in the winter, just as I love walking the rest of the year, but with snowshoeing as with walking, sometimes it’s just not quite enough of a priority. And that’s definitely a downside of being committed to a daily run. Knowing that my fifteen or more minutes of running is a higher priority often keeps me from the walking, biking and snowshoeing I love. But there are only so many minutes in a day, and priorities do need to be set. I’ve chosen to be a parent, wife, community member, writer, homemaker: that means I can’t put all the minutes into outdoor activity that I might wish to. I’ve opted for other responsibilities as well, so like just about everyone else in the world, unlimited recreation time is not a viable option for me.
All of which is why it felt so particularly rewarding to get out for an hour today. By foot, by snowshoe, by paw, by leash, with cameras in hand, we made our way to the general store in the center of town. Holly bought gummy worms and took a picture of them before she ate any; Pat and I rested for a few moments and took pictures of each other with Holly.
The conflation of circumstances just worked out today. The kids are on vacation from school. Several inches of snow fell on Tuesday. Pat is here for a brief visit. I had no urgent deadlines today. The sun was bright, the air milder than it has been in weeks. Everything was in favor for us to go snowshoeing, and I’m so glad we did.
By the end of the day, I was surprised and pleased to note how much snow had melted. As a runner, much as I appreciate the beauty of fresh snow, I also consider it an imposition; it covers the footpaths and forces me to run in the roadway or else confine my workouts to our long driveway, which gets dull. With the sun shining all day, gravel had emerged along most of the footpath and the driveway, meaning it will be easy to run there by tomorrow.
I also noticed that the biggest patches of snow-free gravel were in the tracks from our snowshoes. So there was an added advantage to our excursion; we’d facilitated the snowmelt that will make for easier running later in the week. All of this reminded me there’s really nothing frivolous about taking time for snowshoeing at all. The three of us spent time visiting together and had a good stretch of fresh air and exercise, the dog had a good workout that kept her content for the rest of the day, Holly’s gummy worm purchase supported a worthy local business, and we paved the way for melting. A good outing all around.
Well, the dog wasn’t showshoeing, just trotting surefootedly through the snow as she always does. And Holly snowshoed only for the first fifty feet or so and then declared that she was sinking farther into the snow with snowshoes on than in just boots, and hadn’t I told her the point of snowshoes was to stay on top of the snow? She said she’d go without the showshoes. Given that she’s the second of my two children to declare snowshoes redundant, I think the kiddie snowshoes are destined for the swap shed.
So Belle trotted, Holly tromped, and Pat and I showshoed, although by the time we’d reached our destination, the center of town one mile away, Pat was having trouble keeping one of her snowshoes on so she decided she’d just carry them.
No matter. I was still enjoying my snowshoes and happy that the rest of the coterie was sticking with the plan to walk to town, snowshoes or none. With our footpath under several inches of snow, I thought it was more fun to march along in my snowshoes than slog through the drifts even if, as Holly pointed out, there was no significant difference in ease of travel. I spend plenty of time throughout the winter slogging through snow in my boots; tromping in snowshoes was just something different and therefore fun.
Mostly I was just glad to be out. It was only the second time I’d put on my snowshoes all winter, and I’m sorry to admit that’s not for lack of snow; it’s that I’m too easily distracted from one of my favorite wintertime activities. I love snowshoeing in the winter, just as I love walking the rest of the year, but with snowshoeing as with walking, sometimes it’s just not quite enough of a priority. And that’s definitely a downside of being committed to a daily run. Knowing that my fifteen or more minutes of running is a higher priority often keeps me from the walking, biking and snowshoeing I love. But there are only so many minutes in a day, and priorities do need to be set. I’ve chosen to be a parent, wife, community member, writer, homemaker: that means I can’t put all the minutes into outdoor activity that I might wish to. I’ve opted for other responsibilities as well, so like just about everyone else in the world, unlimited recreation time is not a viable option for me.
All of which is why it felt so particularly rewarding to get out for an hour today. By foot, by snowshoe, by paw, by leash, with cameras in hand, we made our way to the general store in the center of town. Holly bought gummy worms and took a picture of them before she ate any; Pat and I rested for a few moments and took pictures of each other with Holly.
The conflation of circumstances just worked out today. The kids are on vacation from school. Several inches of snow fell on Tuesday. Pat is here for a brief visit. I had no urgent deadlines today. The sun was bright, the air milder than it has been in weeks. Everything was in favor for us to go snowshoeing, and I’m so glad we did.
By the end of the day, I was surprised and pleased to note how much snow had melted. As a runner, much as I appreciate the beauty of fresh snow, I also consider it an imposition; it covers the footpaths and forces me to run in the roadway or else confine my workouts to our long driveway, which gets dull. With the sun shining all day, gravel had emerged along most of the footpath and the driveway, meaning it will be easy to run there by tomorrow.
I also noticed that the biggest patches of snow-free gravel were in the tracks from our snowshoes. So there was an added advantage to our excursion; we’d facilitated the snowmelt that will make for easier running later in the week. All of this reminded me there’s really nothing frivolous about taking time for snowshoeing at all. The three of us spent time visiting together and had a good stretch of fresh air and exercise, the dog had a good workout that kept her content for the rest of the day, Holly’s gummy worm purchase supported a worthy local business, and we paved the way for melting. A good outing all around.
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