APRIL 7, 2023 – I threw the plastic sled in at the last minute, thinking it might come in handy. Good thinking.
On impulse I’d decided to take a quick overnight trip up here to ski sections of the Birkebeiner Trail tomorrow morning for Day No. 124 of a record season. The forecast calls for superb spring skiing conditions, and the grooming crew has worked its magic over many kilometers of the finest x-c trail in North America. Spring was in the air today, and I figured it was time to break free from daily routines.
As I drove north out of the cities, I pretended the three-hour trip was actually a seven-hour flight to Europe—a long haul but a lot closer than say, East Asia or Down Under. Beth is currently in the real Europe; Scotland, actually, which, of course, isn’t on the continent, so technically, it’s not Europe, real or imagined, though if a majority of Scots had their way, they’d probably still be part of the Euro Zone. At her cousin Kathy’s suggestion, Beth and Kathy had planned a trip to the Highlands. I’d dropped them off at the airport late Wednesday afternoon. As the “Bubble Boy,” I was left behind—and left to my own devices.
I’ve adjusted well to my travel ban, which has been in place for nearly a year and a half. By this summer, I hope, the ban can be lifted, but upon arriving late this afternoon at the junction of Yopps Road and Williams Road in the woods of northwest Wisconsin, I was not thinking of distant travels; only how to navigate the last slushy, muddy mile to the Red Cabin.
The plastic sled saved the day. After consolidating a few things, I loaded my gear onto the sled and commenced the half-hour slog. The experience bordered on meditative; a Buddhist pilgrimage, wherein physical strain was rewarded with heightened awareness of being.
Followed slavishly by my sledge of freight, I felt the sturdy nylon pull cord dig into my hand. I could’ve donned a pair of leather gloves, but the ambient temperature was nearly 50F, and for the first time in months, I felt comfortable being barehanded outside. By pulling with both hands, I alleviated the stress on the one hand. I could now focus on the details of my course—what sections were best for walking, pulling; every bend, dip and incline in the road. When lugging a load, you become keenly observant of pathway nuances.
The grand rewards of my effort, however, were the shadows on the still slumbering woods under a full blanket of snow. Every tree stood both as a sun dial and a gauge of my progress, but time moved even when I stopped to observe the surrounding beauty. This motion of the sun—or more precisely, of the earth—so much clearer here in the woods, is a reminder of inexorable cosmic forces ever greater than our biggest worries, public and personal. Even the Christian message of Good Friday and all that follows it, is in the end, subservient to the power of Creation.
Some find answers in great cathedrals built by human hands in praise of the deity, especially on Easter Sunday. I see a comprehensive truth in the quiet miracle of arboreal clockwork in shadows cast upon the snow, lit by the Eastertide sun.
(Remember to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.)
© 2023 by Eric Nilsson
