I thought the snow looked amazing from the train, but it is nothing like the depth and bite of walking deep in the woods at our friend’s tree farm, a few days after it has all settled. I was so excited about the whole business, stomping and jumping and squealing with delight the minute we got out of the truck and my boots started crunching the white underfoot. I’d layered up, wearing near everything I own, so was super warm, and was pleased with my new Hunter rainboots, which I thought would keep me dry. And they did, but keep me warm they did not, in spite of three pairs of socks (one being wool). They are rainboots, but not snow boots. We hiked about the property for over an hour, up hills and down (enough to warm my little toes, thankfully), over fallen trees and brambly bushes, all buried under piles of snow. Every footfall was deep and soft.
We came across a creek, and, much to my dismay, the boys skimmed clear across the frozen parts, not worried that it cracked behind them. I made a firm decision to brave it, and not whine and fret as I might usually, and was across the first part and scrambling up the bank, my gloves wet with snow, before I even knew it. I felt confident and daring and so on the way back, at a slightly wider point twenty minutes later, I had my shining moment. Screaming as I made the first step and heard a gaping crack, I leaped and skimmed and just a few moments later was in the arms of Jordy’s friends, laughing hysterically. Others took a fall, one got rather damp, but I’m told my crossing was the most majestic, and that the ice cracked and broke apart moments after each step like I was in a film. You might say I walked on water. It was terrifying and by far the most fun I’ve had in a very long time.