Jewish American Heritage Month

Posted By simmons on February 17, 2017

A child takes a ride on Napa Kiikku at Lapland Lake Nordic Center in Northville. (Herb Terns / Times Union)

A child takes a ride on Napa Kiikku at Lapland Lake Nordic Center in Northville. (Herb Terns / Times Union)

Little Wren makes a point to Gillian Scott, likely about cookies, while snowshoeing in the Plotterkill Preserve. (Herb Terns / Times Union)

Little Wren makes a point to Gillian Scott, likely about cookies, while snowshoeing in the Plotterkill Preserve. (Herb Terns / Times Union)

Mike tracks in the Plotterkill Preserve. (Herb Terns / Times Union)

Mike tracks in the Plotterkill Preserve. (Herb Terns / Times Union)

Mike tracks enter a stream at the Plotterkill Preserve. (Herb Terns / Times Union)

Mike tracks enter a stream at the Plotterkill Preserve. (Herb Terns / Times Union)

Outdoors: Join the 'winter anti-defamation league'

My wife, Gillian, and 7-year-old foster daughter, Little Wren, ate pieces of warm zucchini bread as the first flakes came. I sipped coffee and watched through our big kitchen window as the snow fell faster.

Sunday, the day of rest, enforced by winter. It's been a long time since we've had a storm like that, with the building anticipation that feels like an event, a spontaneous nature-created holiday. We stocked up on soup, hot chocolate and movies for a day of hibernation, but Gillian, still able to save her soul, made it to church.

The Sunday before the storm, the three of us skied in Northville. Little Wren was caught up in the children's program at Lapland Lake, so for a while I skied alone through silent woods. I returned to find her and the other kids on a Napa Kiikku, the Finnish phrase for a sled attached to a long wooden pole that slides kids across a small icy pond at surprisingly high speed. The year was 2017, but if it weren't for their clothing, just looking at them sliding around on the ice, it could have been 1917 or 1817.

On cold, winter days when I was Little Wren's age, I remember my grandfather getting weather reports from our relatives in different towns. On days it was below zero, he would compare the temperature of our little Catskill Mountain town with their temperatures. On snowy days, he would compare snowfall totals. He was disappointed if someone else had colder temperatures or more snow. This is where I come from.

A quarter of our calendar is winter, a quarter of our lives. Too much of our time to wish away.

I won't try to sell winter, because I know not many would buy. We tend to forget the cold, clear, star-filled nights and the snow-covered trees. But we remember the frozen windshields and cold feet.

Hollywood doesn't help. Happy life is California sunshine, and screenwriters only reach for our weather to illustrate desperation: The white walkers of "Game of Thrones" or Leonardo DiCaprio in the cold, Canadian wilderness in "The Revenant." Most of the scenes in "Fargo," all of the scenes in "Affliction" ... the list goes on.

There's no joy in snowville.

The frozen tide might be turning, however, going by the pogie index. (Pogies are those handwarmers you attach to your bike handlebars to keep your hands warm in the cold.) Fat-tire bikes, originally spawned in Alaska, are becoming more popular.

Gear is on our side, too. Winter clothing, skis, boots and snowshoes are all lighter, better and cheaper than ever.

Gillian, Little Wren and I have joined the cause and formed our own little "winter anti-defamation league". Before last weekend's snow, we enlisted Gillian's father for a snowshoe through Schenectady County's Plotterkill Preserve.

I've climbed the 46 highest Adirondack peaks in winter, but keeping a 7-year-old moving might be a bigger challenge. I consider mentioning Sisu, a Finnish word that roughly translates as a combination of courage, perseverance and fighting spirit. Instead, we just made promises about cookies.

The Plotterkill snow told stories. Footprints showed where a mink had jumped from the cold, fast water of the stream into the snow without the benefit of a towel or hair dryer. A fox climbed under a pile of downed logs. Some snowshoers tried to climb a bank that was too steep and fell down, sliding on their behinds like oversized otters.

We moved together through the forest, three generations of winter anti-defamation leaguers. The trees were draped with snow, the air cold and fresh as only winter air can be. The year was 2017, but except for our clothes, it could have been 1917 or 1817.

Back at home the next day, we built competing snow forts in the backyard. Gillian escaped for a peaceful ski on the unplowed streets while Little Wren and I heaved fluffy snowballs at each other from behind the snow walls.

The winter anti-defamation league reconvened back in the kitchen. We sipped hot chocolate and looked out the same kitchen window as winter continued decorating the landscape on the other side of the glass. We accepted this quarter of our lives for what it was; snowpants, Sorrell boots and wet gloves drying on the chair. We didn't wish for anything else.

hterns@timesunion.com

Visit link:
Outdoors: Join the 'winter anti-defamation league' - Albany Times Union

Category: Anti-Defamation League
Tags: