One of the first times that I remember appreciating the outdoors as a boy was cross-country skiing with my father. At the crack of dawn on a winter weekend morning, we would head out to the local reservoir lands in suburban Connecticut. As a child, I had always enjoyed playing in the outdoors with our many hikes, camping trips or park adventures, but I have clear and fond memories of the winter adventures that took us into areas that seemed uncharted and pure.
There was a magical transition that would start with the two of us pulling into the parking lot, pulling on our thin leather ski shoes, strapping on the narrow skis and setting out. For the first twenty minutes, I would be stuck in my head, trying to fend off the cold, wondering if I could keep up the pace and begin to slowly separate from civilization. At some point, we might scare a rabbit or some other creature into the brush and all of a sudden I would look around and realize that we were completely alone – no sign of anyone or anything but a beautiful serene winter forest wonderland. When we paused we would only hear ourselves breathing, a gentle whistle of the breeze in the trees, and an overwhelming silence. At that point, my toes were usually frozen, and my heart would warm to this incredible time my father and I would share, leaving only our tracks and taking only our memories.
It never ceased to amaze me that we would lose 3 hours on these days, returning to the car exhausted, yet invigorated. As I cried in anguish as the blood returned to my feet, my father and I would detour to a nearby Dunkin Donuts for a hot chocolate and two warm cinnamon buns to literally ice the sweet cake of the morning we just enjoyed. Those were special times for many reasons, but they planted the seeds of my deep appreciation for the power of nature.