Skiing in a storm

Tonight I had to ski.

It has been two days since I'd last had my feet locked in to a pair of skis and my body was begging to get out.

Still, it was one of those nights that works hard to keep you in. It was a long day. I got in late from Media Box. We had a late dinner, two games of checkers and I wasn't moving fast to get the kitchen wiped down . But I had to go.

Pulling out of the driveway, I second guessed driving to Blueberry. Lakewood was drifting shut and I fishtailed the turn to cross the river. Jeeze Louise the snow was piling up fast.

Plows heading east on County Road 480 made clouds when they passed threatening to steer me into the bank, but I recovered. When I got to Blueberry I busted into the lot, the only car and from the condition of the track, the only skier for at least an hour.

The gauge in the car read 5 degrees. I could tell there was a wind, but I wouldn't be cold. I chose my no-wax Salomon's and set my watch.

Most nights I ski by myself. It feels so good to be out in the air, the quiet, the snow. Tonight the track's humps looked like two legs stretched out under a blanket, but my skis found the grooves and dropped in easily.

Right away I knew this wouldn't really be a ski, but more of a walking glide, plowing snow with my skinny little tips. Approaching a light pole on the first rise I looked back to see if anyone was following. Not a soul. But my tracks, two shiny cuts stood out against the smooth fresh snow as if I was writing my name on a blank sheet of paper; not the letters, but certainly my identity.

I love where I live.

The beauty that surrounds us in Marquette ranks too rich for words.

The pine boughs caked with snow were so ripe for my trail trick, but no one was following to douse with snow. I would have to save it.

And no fresh animal tracks laced across my path. The critters tonight, big and little, are laying low and waiting out the weather.

Making the bend I felt the wind at my nose. My eyes blinked back the driving snow and then I gave up. I skied along with my eyes shut until I felt the row of Jack Pines break the wind. It's good for your balance to feel the trail in the dark with your feet.

Slowly I climbed the hill, my breath cupped in the neck of my parka. My furnace was fueled and firing. My energy was rebounding.

We have so much to be thankful for. Tonight it was the spontaneity of skiing alone in the night, during the eye of the storm, breathing winter and tasting the fresh snow as it layered on my top lip.

Before I left the house I listened on Public Radio to our governor, Jennifer Granholm, deliver her 7th State of the State address. Bless her. Michigan is suffering. But she's doing her best working through a mess of the economy. She spent the hour giving us the hard facts and her plan to inspire the future. I appreciated her hope. But out on the trail, I was wishing she was with me. I thought about her as a leader, a woman, a mother, a wife. Who and what inspires her? What keeps her energy moving forward?

How I wish she could have these Blueberry nights in her life too. To be in the track and feel the cold wet on her face, be awed by the beauty of the snow drenched trees. It works miracles.

And tomorrow it will only get better when the winds subside and the sun appears. The scene out of my kitchen window overlooking Lake Superior will likely catch my breath and make me pause, like it does most days, with wonder.

We are changed by the power of this place and the preciousness of this landscape.

More testimony to my mantra; "Everything gets better when you get outside."

Even . . .in a storm.