A pair of old fashioned (I prefer this to antique) snow shoes lay in the garage loft for 360 days. I acquired those 15 years ago in a trade. They have a hickory frame that is shaped like a droplet. They have gut webbing and leather bindings. I can reach them from the floor by grabbing the trail guides which help me stay on track when I’m walking.

An 11 inch snow yesterday woke them up. I have the 9 hole golf course ½ mile walk from the house. I was anxious to try the new bindings. I brought the old bindings to Angelo, my sweet 90 year old shoemaker and he made new ones for me. I strapped the shows onto my boots and looked out over a perfect unmarked snow that draped over gentle hills, filled sand traps, stopped at the edges of water hazards and hid the greens.

With full sun and enough wind to wisp snow off the surface and twirl it into little vortexes and gauze curtains. The white pines are magnificent and stand out as icons. On the edge of the fifth green, a mature willow tree is remarkable. This is paradise. Snow storms come as surprises, wonderful opportunities to connect with snow.

I intended to tramp a figure eight, and then repeat my tracks in the opposite direction to pack an 18 inch track that I can cross country ski later. I have to work fast. Snow doesn’t last. The first day on the ground is the best…dry and fluffy with lots of air. This is what I encountered as I stood on the edge of a grand white blanket.

I stepped off and in seconds, I was in the zone, the rhythm, and the most efficient movements to get the maximum exercise. This is as good as going to a gym for a workout five times. Everything is working, arms, legs, torso, lungs, neck, and back.

I was playing my own version of golf but made up my own rules. Go wherever I want, I’m the sole golfer. No clubs, no bag, no golf balls, no teas, just my really cool snow shoes. No Tubs for these feet. They are aluminum abominations. They don’t even work…not wide enough. I’m going classic, with shoes that go back to our Native American ancestors. We copied their designs. I see myself on a tramp to find food, a deer to slay and see red drops on snow.

I love to hear the whoosh of air escaping snow as my shoe sinks into the snow. I love seeing the track behind me. I love being able to walk with tow up heel down on opposite shoes. This is a workout you don’t get on a tread mill. I have to take advantage of the snow. It may not see these conditions again for a long time.
Back home, exhaustion, every second relished. It’s time to shovel the driveway