Yesterday, we ventured out to connect with nature on a windless day in Governor Earl Peshtigo Forest. There were no other cars in the parking lot, which meant we would have the trail to ourselves.
We put on our cross-country skis and chose the ungroomed White Cedar trail with tracks of previous visitors, paw prints zigzagging back and forth between boot steps deep into the snow.
The forest trail began with an array of slender, bent willow branches laden with snow, as if draped in shimmering tatted lace. Even on a still day with no breeze, an occasional branch bounced, shedding its attire and dancing with relief.
Seedlings wore snow hats and capelets, as if made of Arctic fox, while mature white cedars soared overhead, snowless.
Stillness and silence beckoned me to listen to the quiet and marvel at the beauty. Then I crossed a bridge over an active spring that feeds the Peshtigo River. Again, I stop, staring downward, and notice water gently meandering beneath soft, white blankets with curved edges.
I heard a soft whispered burble; had I kept moving, it would have been missed. I found myself alone. Not totally, Michael had left ski tracks ahead of me, which I followed as well as deer tracks and bobcat’s perfect, padded steps left behind.
I wanted to still my mind. Not to think, to take it in and breathe cold air deeply into my lungs, pure air filtered by the white cedars. To be thankful.
Michael came back to check on me, and I asked how the trail was. “It narrows”, he said. “Do you want to keep going?”
“Of course!” Curious where the trail went or if it looped around, and how far we should go. Not looking at a trail map beforehand made it feel more of an adventure, with unknowns, downed logs, awkwardly lifting skis to step over, dips in a frozen vein of a summer creek, and the trail narrowing. We were exploring.
I was hoping for a loop, but when we reached the bright yellow sign reading “Boundary State Land.” There was no loop, and we needed to turn around and repeat the trail in the opposite direction. After a few tumbles into the snow, my fingers grew cold, but Michael brought heated pouches that, when inserted into my mittens, warmed my hands for the return.
We were tired. The sun began to filter through thick woods. I knew I had to face the narrowed path, the fallen logs, and frozen creeks. I sped up my stride and kept up, looking through the trees at the winding, snow-covered river, which bordered some of the trail. The one thing that kept me going was knowing we had chowder in the crockpot made from leftover scalloped potatoes and ham.
When I returned to the entry, I saw Michael sprinting opposite the parking lot. “Where are you going?” I asked. “Thought we could try this other trail,” he said, smiling. I laughed because he was joking, but for a second I thought I might have to wait in the car—an afternoon well spent, with fresh air, exercise, and the reward of hot chowder waiting for us.
What outdoor winter activity do you enjoy? Please share your comments below.
