Treacherous Skate, Frosty Walk

Yesterday morning I dug out my old skates and walked down to the outdoor rink that the local fire department created in December. It’s situated by the local arena which lately, due to Covid-19 restrictions, has been closed. People skate on this oval all the time, but this was my first visit to the newest attraction in the village.

When I arrived at the ice rink, one of the volunteer firefighters was just finishing adding some water to the ice surface to remove the thick frost left there by the rain we’d received a day or two before. He’d made a wide, wet ring around the outside edge of the oval, but the centre was still thick with a combination of frozen rain and sleet. The firefighter had run out of water to apply to the ice so he drove off on his quad, hauling a little trailer behind, and I laced up my skates.

Prior to this attempt, I hadn’t skated for about seven years. As I stepped onto the ice, I made a realization: wet ice is extremely slippery. I took a few tentative steps and began staggering around like a newborn giraffe, my arms flailing in tight circles as I tried to gain some balance. Then, as I rounded the oval I discovered what I couldn’t detect from just looking at the ice rink. It has a definite downhill slope and suddenly, I was on that decline and picking up speed fast on the wet surface. With my knees locked in terror and my arms spread for balance, I made a frantic plan to leap into the snowbank I was headed for. But, even as I planned my desperate escape, my skate blades obeyed my feet and followed the curve of the wet ice oval. Here, the ice was level and I slowed to nearly a stop.

Heart pounding, I stepped off the wet outer oval and onto the frosty centre where I staggered about until the firefighter returned on his quad with a full canister of water on his trailer. By the time he returned, I was regaining a small slice of my lost skating ability. Still, I was happy to head to the bench, swap my skates for boots, and let him finish resurfacing the ice.

After my short, sweaty skate (sweaty from fear and the exertion it took to keep upright), I dropped my skates off at home and went for a walk. The sun was bright and the trees were adorned with frost. There were large ice crystals embedded in the frost and floating through the air, glinting as the morning sun kissed them.

The ice crystals are quite visible on this glittering tree.
The road I walk north of the village.

Thanks for dropping by to spend some time with me today. Take care. ~ Lori

Frost: A Boxing Day Photo Blog

The other day I took my camera out and photographed the old Pearson School (1920-1946) while family was visiting. We were taking them on a tour of some of the landmarks. Our guests seemed a bit underwhelmed by what passes for site seeing around here, but I really enjoyed it!

It wasn’t as frosty today, Boxing Day, but the sky was a vibrant blue and the whole wintry world just shone.

And here are a couple pictures of me in the frost feeling a bit frosty.

Thanks for joining me on this snowy adventure. I hope you’re having a very nice holiday season wherever you may be, mountains or desert, sand or snow. Take care and enjoy!

~ Lori

Tracks in the Snow

 

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Dog’s footprint in the snow.

When I walk by myself in the snow, I’m never walking alone.

The other morning I went out for a walk in the fresh snow. My usual road was suddenly new. A variety of footprints indented the snow with their different shapes and depths. There were huge cloven hoof prints that showed where a moose had leapt a barbed wire fence, and ran through the ditch and across the road.

A tiny set of four shallow depressions told the tale of a mouse bounding through the snow. A larger set of canine paw prints followed right behind and then caught up where there was a scuffle in the snow and where both sets of prints disappeared. On the opposite side of the disturbed snow, the canine paws continued. The tiny prints did not.

Listen to me read this post:

Tracks in the new fallen snow told me about the birds in my backyard, large and small, feasting at the feeder, and about the cat watching them from behind the low bushes beyond. Deer footprints in my yard told me of wild, hungry creatures that had developed a taste for birdseed.

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Bird tracks in my backyard

Some footprints in the snow bore the intricate pattern of rubber soles. One of these sets was larger than mine and was closely accompanied by big dog feet that occasionally strayed off into the deeper snow in the ditch. The other shoe prints looked familiar. They were the imprint of my own soles from yesterday afternoon’s walk.

Tire tracks swerving into the ditch until they stopped where the snow was deep told me that someone had underestimated the slippery road conditions. The tire tracks veered sharply out of the ditch, kicking up dirt and dead grass along the way, reassuring me that the vehicle had four-wheel-drive and that the driver was able to get unstuck.

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A BIG moose track.

When we walk in the snow, we never walk alone. Those varied prints in the snow remind us of all the beings with whom we share the road. Maybe they’re a bit behind or perhaps they’re running ahead. They might be moving on two legs or they might be traveling on four. They might be strolling for pleasure or running for their lives. They might be searching for food or trying to walk off all the food they just ate.

No matter the road, we never walk alone. There may not be anyone else in sight, but others have come before and others will follow. Every traveler will be different than us in some small way, fur-bearing or toque-wearing. But mostly they’ll be the same in that we’re all on life’s journey and we’re all doing the best we can to navigate it.

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Deer track in the melting snow.

Thanks for spending some time with me here at my website. So glad you could stop by. For those of you who live in my neck of the woods, I’ll be at the HPS Christmas Market on Saturday, November 24th selling my books and our local history book. Memories and Milestones is on sale for $100/set and my young adult novels are $5 each. It would be great to see you there! ~ Lori