First Steps in Snow

      It was our first time traveling to Angel Fire, New Mexico for a winter vacation. Well, it was our first time traveling for a winter vacation, ever. My parents decided to try something new, and instead of giving presents, they wanted to give an experience. I think they read about that on some “yummy-mummy” blog, and figured skiing would be an experience that even they could enjoy.

           My sister and I were six and four, respectfully, and had been amped by our parents prior to our travel that this would be “fun, Fun, FUN!” (their words, not mine). I didn’t know much of what was going on and just went along for the ride, whereas my sister filtered in and out of tantrums whenever she realized she wouldn’t get the Spinning Sky Dancers toy she wanted.

           It was pretty late when our plain landed, so everything outside our window looked bleak and black. Dad tried to convince mom that driving there would work better, living only one state over to the left, but mom claimed our car couldn’t handle the strain of driving in below freezing weather. I think she just didn’t want to be stuck in a car for 13 hours with complaining children. My sister and I couldn’t take in the full scene of New Mexico since it was nearly midnight and we fell asleep on the flight there.

           The first thing I noticed was the silence. I could hear everyone’s breathing, uninterrupted from honking cars or police sirens. Since I didn’t know we had shifted locations while sleeping, I panicked and woke my parents in the adjoining bed in our open concept cabin. Spatial reasoning and object permanence are still relatively new concepts to a toddler.

           After my dad reassured me and made himself coffee, the sun started breaching over the horizon. The glistening snow-scape brightened by the sun’s rays invited us to go play. Wrapped in thrift store coats and gloves, the two of us ventured outside, while my mother and sister prepped breakfast.

           My introduction to winter started with a few icicles dangling from the porch railing, making the cabin look as if it wore a crystal necklace. My right hand gripped the railing as my dad guided my teetering descent with my left hand in his. Once on the gravel drive, my ambition took over, and I immediately ran to the nearest patch of snow. First inspection was with my foot, followed by handprints. Next came cupping the snow and tossing it skywards just to watch it fall back to its frozen brethren. My father just stood there and laughed as I repeated this routine over and over again.

           “Hey, let’s explore around the cabin,” he suggested. Thinking back on it now, the space between neighboring cabins rested between 2-3 yards apart with half a dozen conifer trees in-between, but to a kid who grew up in a central-city district, it looked like miles of forest encircled us. My experience with snow remained limited to the edges of the driveway, and the thought of investigating further into the woods sent me trembling.

           The first few steps out, nothing seemed abnormal. Dad in the lead, he seemed to shrink before me with each step. I froze to watch the horror show that was my father being enveloped by the snow.

           I screamed, “Stop! Daddy, stop!” He turned back at me to see what caused me to be so hysterical.

           “The snow! It’s eating you!” I shouted. He trudged back towards me with a smile on his face.

           “No it isn’t, sweetheart, see.” He reached to pick me up, and continued on with his walk. I looked and saw that the snow did stop elevating around him at a certain point, which didn’t exactly reach his knee, but aligned significantly higher than his ankle, and receded back to a normal height. It only took a few steps with me in tow for my dad’s breathing to become labored, and hot tuffs of steam exploded from his mouth.

           “The air is much thinner here than I expected. This is no joke.” He awkwardly shifted me to his other hip, but finally gave up this method of trekking and asked, “Do you think you are ready to try walking on your own?”

           I shook my head vigorously, and imaged a serpent lying beneath the snow, ready to jump out and devour me. “It will be okay,” he told me, as he set me down. “See, there you are. Just put your feet in the same spots I put my feet. Then you will know you are walking on safe ground.” He walked on with out, and I knew I had two choices: stay and get eaten, or walk with him.

           Following his advice, each step I took was a strained stride to match his gate. I couldn’t really look around at the property surrounding us, as I was too focused on eyeing the earth. It became apparent that my apprehensions were silly, and this was actually fun, I looked up and around at the marvel of a snowy winter. At a certain point, I noticed that the trail behind us only had one set of footprints.     

           “Hey,” I thought, “I want my own foot prints too!”

           Jumping around my dad to make my own impressions, we waded about, kicking and flinging snow with each step. Feeling braver now, I even allowed myself to fall back to make snow angels, which looked more like snow Mr. Potato Head.

           A shout from the back window beckoned us to breakfast, and we trudged back in a pathetic attempt at a race. Before stepping inside, we shook the snow particles off our clothes as much as we could. We thought there would be plenty of opportunities to revisit the snow, but that weekend kept getting warmer and warmer, and it all evaporated by the time we left.

           Getting to tube down a bunny slope was all my parents could afford in way of skiing, which ended up being fine, since my dad caught altitude sickness. A few days after Christmas, my sister forgot about never receiving presents from our parents, since our aunt and uncles were able to provide some items for her. She never did get that Spinning Sky Dancers, though, which was probably for the better, since some kid lost an eye to one the year after.

           We attempted another sky vacation when I was a teenager, but it couldn’t compare to that first experience with snow. It’s funny to think on how naïve I was, but my dad took the opportunity to give me life long advice.

           As we finished eating our breakfast of pancakes and eggs, my dad leaned over to whisper,

           “Any time you feel very fearful, I will take the first steps in front of you, and you can follow in my steps, until you know that you can take your own steps.”