Skiing and Laughing in the Deep, Dark, Woods With Daddy and the Dog

Sunday was piano day for my eldest, so I asked my youngest if she wanted to go skiing. We’d had the first real snowfall of the winter overnight, and I’d spent the morning shoveling the sidewalks and driveway.“Want to go?”“Sure,” she said, much to my pleasant surprise.But then a kind of chaos ensued. It’s always challenging to do something for the first time in a season. It’s bad enough for one person. I had to find my skis, my boots, my poles. Naturally, they weren’t where they were supposed to be because I’m notorious for not putting things away.Meanwhile, my daughter was kind of buzzing around me asking questions. “Is the dog coming? Are we going to that ski area out by the waterfall? What gloves should I wear?”“Just hold on a second, hold on a second,” I said.By then, I’d managed to sort through which skis she’d use. I was trying to hold them. Skis are bizarre, if you don’t hold them correctly you end up hugging them to your chest and then they explode in a clatter to the floor.“Can you take these? Take them to the front door.”Meanwhile, the dog too was circling us. He knew something was up and he hates being left behind, he hates it.But little by little we ended up making our way to the door. There were enough skis, there were enough poles. I decided to make some progress by loading some of the equipment into the car.“What should I wear?”“Wear those ski pants I have for you, the ones with the full length zipper.”I scrambled outside before I could hear her protest. For some reason she doesn’t like those pants even though they were top of the line equipment twenty-five years ago. They have wind proof material on the front and they have breathable fabric on the back. They were my mom’s pants, and they’d be perfect for basketball because you can put them on and take them off without removing your shoes.But she doesn’t want to wear them.Hugging the tangle of skis and poles to my chest, I went out to the car. I have a ski box on my car year round. In the summer I use it for stand-up paddle boards. In the winter it’s skis.There are two buttons you have to push simultaneously to get it to open. One worked, the other jammed. It has jammed before, I have a hammer in my car for this purpose. Two quick blows and “boing!” the ski box opened.I put in the skis and poles, closed up the box, and went back into the house. I met my daughter wearing the ski pants! She didn’t say anything about it, so neither did I. But I noticed she was wearing a sweatshirt and her regular winter jacket.She’d taken off the dog’s winter sweater and put on his harness. He was ready to go, tail wagging, smiling.“You’ll overheat in that, jacket. Go put on a thermal shirt and I’ll find a jacket for you.”Again she didn’t protest. Maybe it was because we were going to the woods instead of the mall. As I searched for ski boots, she returned. I gave her the jacket that goes with the pants and, miracle of miracles, she put it on without complaint. The second miracle was that her boots fit her without problems. Our fortunes had turned. Order was emerging from the chaos. My frustration ebbed as I moved closer and closer to my goal.“Are these gloves okay?”“No, don’t use the fuzzy ones.”“How about these?”“Fine.”Then finally we were outside. I grabbed the little brush that’s jammed in the space next to the door and cleaned off my windshield and hood. The dog took his place in the passenger seat. He’s the supervisor. He doesn’t like to sit in the back. My daughter had filled up the water bottle that goes in the belt that attaches to his leash. She’d even put granola bars in the pouch.It’s a short drive to the park. Whenever we have a snow day from school, our tradition is to cross-country ski to the park along the sidewalks before people get out to shovel. That’s why my daughter was surprised we’d take the car. Those snow days are always an adventure. I like having adventures.We parked the car and left the dog inside as we arranged our skis and poles. He watched us from the window, none too happy about being left out. Then, I opened the door and he blasted out, barely giving me time to grab the belt as he went past. Sometimes when I’m out walking him, he nearly breaks me in half. On skis, the force is diluted and he gets the worst of it.We clipped in, grabbed our poles, and we were off. The trail wasn’t groomed, so this wasn’t a day about technique. You didn’t have to worry about wax or proper ski flex or anything technical. Our skis were essentially snowshoes with a bit of glide. The dog strained at the end of the leash, and I broke trail for my daughter.Both of my daughters are good athletes. The pants and jacket she was wearing were from when I used to run a cross-country ski team. I hadn’t seen anyone dressed like that in years, and seeing the uniform again brought back some fond memories. She looks like a skier. She’s a runner and a basketball player, so she’s nimble and strong.I’ve had her out skiing a couple dozen times, but mainly it was just playing around without poles. This might have been the first time she tried to ski with poles. A skier with good technique looks like a piston. I’ve trained with Olympic athletes before. You should see them. They go charging up hills like an unstoppable force.But today we were just having fun and enjoying the snow. My daughter looked more like a star fish. That’s not the worst thing in the world when you’re doing skate technique, but she was doing classical technique. Still, her balance is so good she was able to make progress and not fall. It was pretty darn impressive to be honest. She didn’t even know how impressive it was.Meanwhile the dog tugged away at the leash.“Slow down!” my daughter said.“He’s pulling."The dog would go running off until he ran out of slack and then the leash would jerk and I’d surge forward. He didn’t look back, he just smiled and strained and kept going. But he mainly went straight ahead and didn’t do anything crazy like make circles around trees.Once or twice he came back to me and wanted to go around behind me, then cross in front, then go behind again.“Stop! Stop! Stop!”And he’s a good boy so he’d stop and look and be confused. You communicate with a dog in binary. It’s yes, no.He tried to cross in front of me.“No!”So he gave me a vaguely hurt look and tried to cross in back of me.“Yes!”Then he looked happy as if he’d figured this out and came back around to the front, untangling himself.Our ski in the park was beautiful. The snow was deep enough to allow control, but not so deep that progress was overly slow. We had grip on the uphills and glide on the downhills. “Are your hands cold?”“A little.”“They’ll warm up.”We went a mile or two from the parking lot and crossed a bridge. “How are your toes?”“My toes are cold.”It was because she was skiing like a starfish instead of a piston. You have to get up on your toes in classical technique and that keeps the blood pumping through your foot. She was just kind of shuffling, and she’s so small and light that it doesn’t take much energy. She could be a lighting bolt as a skier if she wanted to be, but these days the ski season has been reduced to a couple of weeks.“Should we start heading back?”“Sure, but give me a granola bar.”That’s when I discovered she’d filled the pouch with granola bars.We ate our granola bars and then made our way back up the trail. There were a few spots where trees had fallen down, but there was always enough space to ski beneath them. About a half mile from the car I could tell my daughter was dragging, so I asked, “Would you like to take the dog for a while?”“Yes!”He was dragging too. So I unclipped the belt and attached it to her. He seemed relieved to be pulling ninety pounds instead of two-hundred and thirty. He went off like the start of a horse race. My daughter began to giggle. He pulled her down once, then twice. She laughed the whole time, then they found their rhythm and I found it hard to keep up.We made it to the clearing before the parking lot and she crashed again.“I’ll get the car prepared,” I said. I skied on, took off my equipment, opened the box, and looked up to see the dog charging at me, his face in a big smile as if to cry out, “Free! Free! Free!”I realized that the last time my daughter fell, she released him rather than wait to get untangled. He sat with his tail wagging, begging me to open the door. I guess that meant he was done for the day.My daughter came gliding up. “Did you let him go?”“Yeah.”One of her bindings is broken, so I had to bend down and get it loose. I realized I did this from rote memory, though my conscious mind had forgotten the binding was broken until it was time to go.We fell into a quiet happiness as we drove home. That’s common after a day of skiing. You’re tired and winded. Your skin feels dry from the cold, but your cheeks are rosy and full of life.At home, the shower helped us feel renewed. The dog was so tired he collapsed on his bed and slept most of the afternoon. I caught a quick nap too on the couch, even though my family was watching a dog show and giggling.These are the days, the winter days, that you remember. The random adventures that form the foundation of a life.I knew my dog would leap at the chance to go skiing again. I hope that my wife and daughters will too.You all make this newsletter happen! Thanks for your sponsorship! I have payment tiers starting at as little as twenty dollars a year.Upgrade at 30% offUpgrade at 40% offUpgrade at 50% offUpgrade at 60% offI’m so happy you’re here, and I’m looking forward to sharing more thoughts with you tomorrow.My CoSchedule referral linkHere’s my referral link to my preferred headline analyzer tool. If you sign up through this, it’s another way to support this newsletter (thank you).I'd Rather Be Writing is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to I'd Rather Be Writing at walterrhein.substack.com/subscribe