Living in the Chicago area once meant that you could count on about 30 inches, or roughly 76 centimeters of snow during a typical winter season. Thinking back on my grade school years, I can't recall a winter where there was not a blanket of snow covering the ground between the months of December and mid-March. it seemed like back then it was unusual not to have snow. We never saw the grass, generally, till around the first spring thaw.
Things are quite different in recent years. Everybody is talking about "global warming" and erratic climate changes all over the world. Places in the south, where snow was more uncommon are now finding themselves buried to their waists. I remember last March, the temperature in Chicago had the mercury rising over the 80 degree mark for a couple days in a row. I distinctly recall going to the Lincoln Park Zoo on March 15th, with my family and wearing short sleeve t-shirts and shorts. My kids were grumbling about being too hot!
Experts at the Climate Prediction Center,
said about that phenomenon, to give a hearty thank you, in part, to something called the
Madden-Julian Oscillation. Like the proverbial butterfly flapping
its wings in Africa that helps to cause a hurricane in the Gulf of Mexico,
far-flung climate patterns hundreds or even thousands of miles away were
helping fuel the nation’s bizarre, record-shattering March heat of last year.
Who's to say where this is all going. I received a pair of cross country skis several years ago as a Christmas/birthday present. This was one of the best gifts that I can recall. Since then, I always looked forward to grabbing my boots, skis and poles and heading to the nearby woods, spending a few hours each weekend gliding across the neatly groomed trails. Often I would bring a camera, my iPod and I would just have an amazing time, alone in total solitude.
The exercise is always an extra bonus - being so caught up in the act of skiing through pristine woodlands, conquering the sometimes challenging terrain, I never realized how hard I was working all of my muscles until I got back to my car. Once I stopped, I realized that I was quickly getting chilled, soaked to the skin with perspiration. The late afternoon was always my favorite time of day to ski. I'd typically finish my circuit as the sun, hanging low in the sky, would cast some long shadows - orange-crimson shades lending an ethereal, an almost timeless feel to my being. It is difficult to put into words - something bordering very closely to the spiritual realm though.
I generally would go home, peel out of my damp clothes, shower and get into something soft. I would next build a real wood fire in our fireplace, pour a good glass of wine. I'd bask for a time, holding on, as best I could, to that wonderful sense of euphoric bliss. But these impressions quickly pass as surely as peaceful slumber erodes as we fully wake to the many obligations of a new and busy day in the life.
Yesterday, March 2nd, 2013, I donned my skis for the first time this winter. The snow less common these past years than it has been. There had not been much activity on the trail at Volo Bog Natural Area, so the trails were not well-groomed, the going was not as sure. It almost seems as though others who once shared this passion with me had given up - perhaps not making the effort to uncover their ski gear for these few short weeks preceding spring. Somehow, it wasn't quite the same yesterday - it felt like something is off. So was that it? Has winter abandoned me? Have I abandoned it? I'm not sure. Maybe I'll have another go at it - maybe not.
I left my ski gear in the car though, just in case...
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