Which should come first: the baby or the snowshoes? I flip the options over in my brain several times as I drive to Victory Memorial Parkway in North Minneapolis. Snow, thick and pristine, blankets the expanse, begging me to mar it, to set my human stamp on its newness.
As we roll along, the little guy in my care—a one year old, snuggled in his snowsuit and buckled into his car seat in the back—peeps through the windows at the frosty world outside. He has no idea of the fun to come. But the question again needles me. How will I manage this alone? At the parkway, should I put on my snowshoes first, plug the baby into the carrier I’ll wear on my front, and go? Or, should I get him situated in the carrier on me first, then step into the snowshoes—working around the bulk of him to get them adjusted—and go?
I settle for the first idea—which now seems so obvious the initial question is absurd—stealing the advice of flight attendants everywhere about first helping oneself before aiding another. Once I fasten my snowshoes, I wriggle the baby into his carrier, and he squawks at the tugging. This will be an excellent workout; my heart rate is already elevated from the effort before I take my first clomping step onto the sheet of white.
Fresh flakes skitter in the air around us, and the little boy grimaces. I tromp thirty paces. A passing pickup truck driver honks, flashing me a grin and thumbs-up. I beam back, but I was already smiling.
As I plod on, the baby scowls. Maybe he’s more irritated than amused? At least the fresh air is good for him. I recall the Scandinavian cultural practice of bundled babies, lined up in their buggies outside of coffee shops or daycare centers or on balconies, taking their naps outside in the winter. The Nordic parents believe the crisp air keeps their little ones healthier and fosters better and longer sleep.
The concept called friluftsliv translates to “spending time outdoors to get a change of scenery and experience nature with no pressure to compete or achieve” and is started in infancy in those northern countries. It’s the idea that “returning to nature is coming home.” Strong immune systems and resilience in even the toughest conditions are the benefits of this kind of snoozing so early in life, they believe.
I think of the “hardening off” of tender seedlings now, the practice of gradually introducing baby plants, in stages, to the great outdoors to grow them thicker, sturdier, and better able to adapt to summertime extremes.
If it works for babies and plants, this toughening to weather and change, what about for the rest of us? And what about in other areas beyond the climate? What about in the matters of life?
The lesson runs deep, as deep as the snow I slog through now, and I feel it in my soul. The hard goes deeper than I think is good, and the cold lasts longer than I feel is kind. But I’m still taking steps in it all, and I’m getting stronger.
I’m getting stronger every day.
