My daughter decides that today, Snowstorm Day, she is going to drop off massive amounts of laundry. She has to work this weekend, so I take a break from all the work that I brought home and get her three loads of laundry done, folded, and put into bags so the snow doesn't make them damp and clammy. I decide that I should probably deliver the laundry to her as the weather is going to deteriorate rapidly this afternoon.
As I am packing everything up to deliver to her work, a colleague from my work texts me:
Any interest in snowshoeing before the storm ramps up?
Oh. My. Goodness. YES! I enjoy snowshoeing and haven't had a chance to go yet this year. Yes, of course! YES!
After dropping my daughter's laundry at her place of employment, I boogie up the road to my co-worker's house. She lives right near one of the town's protected trails through the woods. I actually live near two such trails, but the trails where I live are short. The trails near her house crisscross and intersect and comprise over ten miles of open forest land.
I somehow misplace my gators, the lower leg protectors to deter wet and snow-encrusted ankles, within minutes of taking them out to pack them for the trek. I am stuck wearing my old snow pants (that I believe were handed across by the boys). It doesn't matter what we are wearing because we are the only people out in the woods. We can look as dorky as we want because the trees don't care.
It is a wonderful circuit, probably two miles or so. It takes us an hour to complete as we decide against some of the longer, more intricate trails, and thank goodness for that because I am woefully out of shape and huffing and puffing a bit by the time we finish. I am also covered in sweat because I am now overdressed with the snow pants added in.
I don't stay after we finish the trail. My co-worker hospitably tells me that I don't have to run off, but truly the snow is getting steadier, so I should probably get myself home before my slippery driveway gets any worse. I decide to leave my snowshoes and poles in the car, where they probably should've been all along. Like my kayaks, which stay in my car pretty much all summer long, I never know when the mood will strike to go out -- a truth my colleague now knows when I answer her invitation with a resounding, "Good lord, don't change your mind, I'm on my way!!!!!"
