winter is coming

ask my kids what they are most excited about at the moment, and they will all, without any hesitation, answer:  SNOW!  we have five southern raised children living under our minnesota roof right now and each one of them is dreaming of that fluffy white stuff, those slippery sloping sled rides, frozen snow forts and, of course, a few full-throttle snowball fights.  whether it be snow flakes, angels or men, visions do dance in the eager heads of my warm-blooded brood. they just cannot wait. 

last night, two of them came into the kitchen in full gear:  snow jackets, snow pants, snow boots, snow hats and snow gloves. in their 20 below zero wear, they waddled around the island like two puffed up penguins.  there wasn't the hint of a flake in our forecast, but they wanted to try on all their new gear and model for the rest of the family.  for the past couple of weeks, like an alarm-ready fireman, connor has had his snow pants , jacket and boots all set up and displayed in his room, prepared and waiting for that first snowfall when he plans to jump out of bed and into his winter things. i assure you, he’ll waste no time.

some of you laugh.

some of you shake your heads and wonder what's all the fuss.

some of you whisper under your breath, "oh, honey, you just wait and see."

and then some of you smile and say, "YES!"

let's face it, we all have different reactions to big snow.  i get that.  but i'm telling you, it will be just like christmas morning when the first snow finally shows up.  we had a scant number of flakes twirl down two weeks ago and even that meager amount caused the 16 year old to dash to our front window.  with her nose pressed up against the glass, she exclaimed, "look, mom, it's snowing!" (it really wasn't...just a few flakes, but i shared her excitement anyway).

my 7th grader, sarah, was in school when those same first few flakes fell.  in the middle of class, her history teacher, sensing her giddiness, told her to go stand outside for a few minutes and enjoy them.  sarah, who ran out willingly (and jacket-less), proceeded to jump up and down outside the classroom window while the born-and-raised minnesota children watched her like an exotic bird at the zoo.  they laughed.  they marveled too. as hard as it is for sarah to imagine snow, these children can't imagine it being this novel...this new.  oh the wonder of it all. 

my boys have already begun clearing a path from the top of our back hill to the lake.  right over the browning bushes and shrubs,  right over the hillside landscape they will go.  they have great plans for the best sledding hill this side of lake minnetonka.  at the rate they are moving, we will, indeed, have some superb sledding behind our house this winter. 



last weekend, rick went out and bought them all sleds.  no one was asking (yet).  he just did it. those waiting sleds are now stacked in the garage. the dad who goes early to work each day in a suit and tie, who pays the bills and manages the family, well, he’s excited too. 

i, in typical mother fashion, am wondering about the house's best entrance and exit points
in order to minimize wet floors and slush covered surfaces. but truly, this mama can't wait either.  i've purchased the extra large hot chocolate cannister and am taking note of our firewood supply this week.  there's extra cookie dough in the cupboard and last night i organized our entire basket of gloves, hats and scarves -- somehow, even coming from georgia, we have enough now to clothe a small army.

and still some of you shake your head and whisper, but, jody, what about the slippery roads and freezing temperatures?  what about that layer of ice on the windshields?" what about rock salt and dead car batteries?  what about the shoveling out and the being shut in? what about the pain of frozen finger tips and the drip of bright red noses? extra laundry and enormous heating bills?  soggy socks and frozen locks? dripping dog and snow-buried newspaper?  what about that, jody mcnatt?  

i know. 

you have some valid points there.  it's not going to be all sled rides and hot chocolate.  there will be some challenges in this new, colder frontier.  i am well aware.  my kids may only have experienced the mild winter of the south, but i grew up in northern ohio (smack dab in the snow belt, mind you)!  it’s been close to 15 years since i’ve lived in this kind of climate.

but, i remember.  

i remember driving to high school with chains on my tires and sandbags in my trunk.  i remember once, on the way to school, i slid right off the road and into a stop sign at the front entrance of our neighborhood.  and much to my younger sister’s dismay, i turned around, went right back home and climbed back into my bed.  i remember the feeling of snow in my boots and the morning when my little red saab wouldn’t start.  i remember bundling babies and pushing cold metal carts through the frozen slush of grocery store parking lots.   i remember black ice and grey skies and the blinding white of sunlight on snow.

there are two sides, aren’t there? that’s it.  that’s pretty much all of life.  two sides to every coin.  but the question is:  how are we going to view it? how are we going to choose to view it?  a lot depends on if we’re that 9 year old boy with new snow boots and a waiting sled to ride.  i’m not really suggesting that we all need to behave like children, but i do think it’s probably good for us to check our perspective every once in a while.  i know i have to do that. a lot.  i could fret and fuss over the wet floors which are coming, but, honestly, i’d like to be a little more like my 7th grade daughter, sarah, who stood outside the classroom window jumping up and down.  sometimes it’s a choice.  

i keep hearing that minnesotans don’t hunker down, they toughen up.  they prepare well and they push forward.  i know sometimes the stereotypes show lots of casseroles cooking and indoor crafts occurring...(and that’s perfectly okay with me)...but i’ve been around these people for several months now.  i’m already impressed.  and i think i’m about to become more impressed with their spirit of survival, their spirit of embracing what comes, their spirit of choosing.  we have a responsibility to be prepared -- no doubt about it.  but don't we also have a responsibility to have a little perspective?  maybe even a responsibility to be positive? -- to work with what we have and maybe even with where we are ... to look for the silver lining, to find the buried blessing?  and maybe, even like a young boy with a sled and new pair of snow boots, to choose joy in the midst of life's cold?

winter is coming.  

the snow, on its way.

the boots and sleds and mittens are waiting.

the choice is at hand.  it always is -- wherever you live.  whatever the climate.  

"what good is the warmth of summer,

without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.” 

 ~ john steinbeck

“winter is not a season, it's an occupation.”  ~ sinclair lewis

path-making

"do not go where the path may lead, but go instead where there is no path and leave a trail."  ~ emerson


there are paths carved all over our woods.  i can see their beginnings from my kitchen window.  i can walk them on an early morning or wander along in a late afternoon.  they aren't straight, but they are clear.  clearly paths.  when i see them, walk them, i feel pleasure because i know this is the work of my boys -- their hands.  young arms and shoulders and determination all bent together to create something visible. paths which take us not very far.  but path-making which takes us worlds away.
they clear these trails not for their mother, but for their boyhood.  my boys forage through the wilderness of our few acres, perhaps thinking themselves in amazon rainforest or african jungle.   survival hardly the game for these suburban children who will come in when called to hot water and clean sheets and dinner on the table.  


but i call them hesitantly. i call them slowly. i wait as long as i can.  dinner almost cold.  dusk turning dark.  i wish not to disrupt the blaze of their trail.  these boys and their blazing. i wish to protect the spark in their eyes and the adventure in their day.  it is almost impossible living as we do in the luxury of our present.  but i treasure it.  my boys need to be boys.  outside and wild.  trail blazing and tree climbing.  hooting and hollering to each other across wood and dirt and debris. forts and burrows and barefoot.  there will be time later for civilization and clean feet.  but for now i am slow to give up these child savages.  for now i am passionate to protect the moments of exploration and expedition.  they will be better for it.  i know it.

preparing dinner tonight i watch them from my window.  tyler home from cross country practice and not even stepped in the door.  straight to the yard with little brother, dragging rake and shovel behind.  he changes out his running shoes for something dirty and they are off.  and i stir rice and chop chicken and i watch brothers go.  and i wonder about these boys and their paths. right now i can step out on them and know they will take me down to the creek or circle back to our house.  i know this and am glad for this knowing.  but there are paths out ahead of which i know nothing.  paths, dim and dark and winding.  paths which intimidate, paths on which i won't be invited.


and this is why i want them to path-make now --  to dig and rake and plow and clear.  i desperately want them to hone some skills. i want them confident in their blazing abilities because i know someday these suburban born boys will be blazing in another kind of wilderness.  they will face some kind of tough terrain in their future;  a wild place which won't include mom or dad.

and as their mother, i can only do so much.  i won't pretend to be too important. i won't imagine myself more than i am.  from the moment of birth begins a process of letting go of our children.  both boys were clingers of the greatest kind. especially the oldest.  there was a time when he cried if i left him at sunday school or preschool or in the kitchen.  now he carries shovel to the path and digs hard.  i am quite sure he doesn't look back.  when i go out to watch their progress or comment on their plan he is cool and teenaged and tolerant.  sometimes he says things like, "mom, you might want to be careful." he doesn't look up from his work, but he wants me to know he's in charge.  there was a day when he didn't want me out of his sight, and now, he isn't so sure he wants me out on his path.  gone are the boys holding to my legs.  gone are the boys climbing into my bed.  my sons have new trails to cut, new paths to navigate.  and though i won't always be able to watch them from my window, i am so thankful for The One who watches over them, The One who goes before them, The One who blazes right along with them.

"the Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; 

He will never leave you nor forsake you."  ~deuteronomy 31: 8 

"trust in the Lord with all your heart acknowledge him 
and he will make straight your paths." ~ proverbs 3:5-6