One of the nice things about having my own website and blog is that I can write about whatever I want whenever I want. Since I’m not in this to make money I can follow my own whims and not be ruled by the need to serve up something designed only for the purpose of increasing subscribers or sponsors. I love that there are people “out there” who enjoy my meandering thoughts about history, family, and travel, but unless someone suggests a topic for me to write about (please do!!!), I am left to my own devices to pick one of my random reflections and (try to) build it into something coherent.

With that said, this week’s blog article strikes a little different path than most of the others. It is not about history. It is not about family - well, maybe a little. And it is not about travel. It’s about the joys of the winter months and dealing with the whammies that life throws at us as we age.

Living With Winter

Those of us who live where it snows generally fall into two camps: people who love winter and look forward to it, and people who dread it every year. Those who love it can’t wait for the first snow, and are disappointed when January approaches and there has been no real snowy experience yet. Others are silently (or not so silently) thankful when winter weather is delayed by unseasonably warm temperatures. Still others abandon the northern, snowy weather altogether and head south.

I definitely fall into the first camp. I love the whiteness that I associate with winter, the icicles that hang from my roof, the bundling up with scarves, gloves and boots, and the tromping through snowy fields as the dogs run and roll and play and dig in billowy drifts. I also enjoy sipping hot tea under a cozy blanket in front of my fireplace and watching the white stuff come down outside my big windows. I don’t even mind driving in it when the need arises, although I prefer to do so only after the plows have come through. I have a snow blower that has served me well over the years.

Here in Michigan we handle the changing and treacherous wintry landscape pretty well overall. We slow down when the roads are slick, we clear sidewalks in front of our own house and our neighbors’ driveways when they need help, we dress appropriately for the cold temperatures and wet, sloppy conditions. Our utility provider here gets a lot of grief because power outages occur more frequently than they should (Michigan is much higher in that regard than the national average), but overall we know what to do to protect ourselves and be safe, even when the power goes down.

That said, by mid-February I’ve pretty much had it with winter and am ready for spring. I was spoiled when I lived in North Carolina years ago. Winter is very short if it comes at all, and while there I did miss the cold and whiteness. But the upside to a short, almost nonexistent winter season was that I grew to love the daffodils and forsythia that bloomed in late February, followed quickly by tulips, azaleas and dogwoods. In Michigan we may not see those harbingers of spring until the end of March or into April.

My birthday falls at the end of January in the dead of winter. It’s always cold, and most years there is snow on the ground, but by the time my birthday rolls around I can’t rely that it will be the nice, fresh, pristine white stuff that I love so much. At the end of January, if there isn’t fresh snow to replenish the beauty of winter it can get pretty dismal outside. I tire of seeing nothing but gray skies for days and days on end, brown, bare branches on all the trees, and the back-and-forth of wet, sloppy puddles or impassable and dangerous icy patches. The streets are often lined by big drifts of plowed snow blackened by exhaust fumes of passing cars, not to mention the cars themselves covered in the spit and spray from big trucks, snowplows, vans or other vehicles who happen to be in front of me or driving past. It’s no good trying to keep my white car clean, it only takes one drive to the grocery story to turn it gray again.

Why would anyone love all that and look forward to it year after year? And yet I do…

High Point of Winter

Given the late arrival of “real” snow this year, I feel like winter has barely begun but I can already identify the clear high point for me. (there may be others to come, but this one will stand above most contenders). On January 20 I participated in the annual 6-mile winter hike at Hocking Hills State Park in southern Ohio. Every year between three and five thousand people (I’m told that in the early years of the hike it was twice this number) make the trek to this scenic part of Ohio to brave the elements and prove to themselves that they have what it takes to traverse this beautiful terrain in the harshest time of the year. This has been going on for 58 years.

My brother Sam has been doing this hike for more years than he can remember (not quite true, he has a patch commemorating every year). He joined the hiking tradition when he married Jean in the mid-1970’s. Apparently this was already a time-honored regular winter activity for his father-in-law Paul, and he was happy to join in.

I have been hearing about the hike for a long time but before this year never made the time to do it with Sam and Jean’s family. In their heyday of hiking, various family members who lived further away would stay overnight near the park and make a weekend event out of it. There were certain rituals and traditions associated with the hike, begun by patriarch Paul, that have been passed through to succeeding generations. Photos from prior years show that the regular walkers tend to wear the same hat or jacket every year. Apparently Paul always passed out candy bars to all the walkers in the family, and those who made it to the end of the hike raised them in celebration of walking victory before ravenously consuming them as an energy boost to get through the last 100 yards to the bus. Although Paul is no longer with us, the candy bar ritual has become a time-honored annual family tradition.

I knew nothing of any of this before I walked, other than the vague references from year to year about who was walking that year, who made it the distance, and who opted out for whatever reason. Some years the group was large, sometimes only 2 or 3 walked. No matter, because whoever shows up proudly represents those who didn’t make it. Those family members who have done the walk know well the fortitude and tenacity it takes to make it to the bitter end in whatever weather mother nature throws at them, and they don’t always choose to put themselves through that. Paul, the patriarch of the group, walked until his body just wouldn’t let him anymore. Now the others walk in his memory and carry on his traditions. Other treasured family members and devoted hikers are similarly honored and remembered.

I decided to do the hike this year because all three of my siblings were walking, and I couldn’t let them go without me. Such is the nature of close family relationships, accompanied by FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out). I didn’t want to miss out on an opportunity to spend time with my sibs, and besides, I’ve been curious about this winter hike for years. So 2024 would be the year. Finally!!

As the day approached I watched the weather reports, planning what to bring to avoid suffering along the way. Some years there is snow on the trail. Some years there is ice packed on the trail. I was told it could be icy and treacherous and that falling was not uncommon. In warmer years the pathway could be coated with horribly sloppy mud, which offers its own set of walking challenges, but that would not be the case in 2024. With snowfalls and temperatures in the single digits in the days leading up to the hike, my main concerns were: 1) staying warm enough, and 2) not becoming overheated by the exertion. Appropriate layers were the order of the day, plus thick socks, heavy gloves, cozy scarf and a warm hat. A lightweight backpack to stow removed layers and energy bars would round out the ensemble. I was ready.

The collective enthusiasm, joy and communal atmosphere created by the thousands of hikers was evident. Some went quickly, anxious to finish and return to the warmth of the visitor center or lodge waiting at the end. Others went more slowly, clearly experiencing difficulty on the slippery or steep parts, but grateful for the random arm or hand to steady them, or kind words providing encouragement as they traversed the challenging stretches of the walk. There were some who gave up some of their own protective gear to help a struggling fellow hiker. A pair of gloves here, a walking stick there, or, in the case of our group, an electronic hand warmer. Our 6 year old hiker, about one-third of the way in had a meltdown because his little hands were frozen and wouldn’t warm up (it didn’t help that he had been happily fluffing around in the snow a few minutes before while no one was watching). A passerby who saw a cluster of us trying to rewrap those frozen tiny fingers in warmth and breathe hot air onto his red, chapped hands, stopped and handed us his hand warmer. Grateful, we promised to find him and return it at the soup stop up ahead, and within minutes our poor, miserable youngest hiker was back to his cheerful, talkative self and made it easily the rest of the way to the half-way point.

I don’t think the temperature got above 15 degrees Fahrenheit that day, which proved a bit much for the 6 year old, his older brother, and a group member whose joints were beginning to suffer from the arduous walking through the snow and climbing up and down steps and rocks. Those three chose not to finish the hike, opting instead for fun games in front of a fire at the park lodge while they waited for the rest of us.

I won’t bore you with more details from the walk, but will offer some photos from the day and these words that succinctly describe my experience: memorable, communal, spectacular, difficult, challenging, cold, tiring, gorgeous, stunning, beautiful, painful, serene, crowded, icy, unforgettable. The hike took all day and afterwards we gathered at Sam and Jean’s house for sloppy joes and chocolate chip cookies. Perfect end to a perfect day!

Low Point of Winter

The low point of winter for me is the realization that my body simply doesn’t reliably behave the way I expect or want it to anymore. This reality was brought home to me on the day of the big six-mile hike when I had to decide at the hot soup rest stop whether I would be able to finish or not. I didn’t spend much time thinking about whether to continue to the end because, although I was pretty cold, and the walk was more difficult than I had anticipated, I was feeling pretty good at that point and felt confident that I could complete the walk with no problems.

After our soup we continued on. The hike traverses past several big destination stops in this beautiful state park: Old Man’s Cave, Rose Lake and dam, Cedar Falls, through a beautiful forest area up to the Fire Tower, then back down to Ash Cave.

It is necessary to watch the path in front of you to avoid tripping on a tree root or rock jutting up in the middle of the pathway, and to watch the other hikers around you, keeping out of the way of those who are faster (and younger, and who seem on a mission to finish as quickly as possible). Enjoying the scenery and serenity of the beautiful surroundings requires one to stop, or to glance quickly around while simultaneously walking and keeping an eye on the path. While we didn’t stay in a tight formation the entire way, we did keep an eye out for each other and those who were further ahead occasionally stopped and waited for those of us who were a bit slower.

In my case, after we left the soup stop, I found myself getting slower and slower as we kept going further and further. My joints ached, my back ached, my knees ached, and by the time I staggered the last 100 yards to the bus pick-up stop I was noticeably limping. What gives??? I was sorely disappointed that my body was letting me down, although it did get me to the end. Five or ten years ago I would have had no trouble making the distance and I wasn’t in any better shape then than I was this time around. Oh well, such is the aging process, throwing challenges at us to see how we respond and giving us reality checks along the way to let us know we need to pay attention.

The ultimate price I paid for my exertion on the hike was to suffer an excruciatingly stiff back for the next several days after I got home. In fact, my back is still weak and tender, going out of whack and causing nasty pain at the least little benign movement if I’m not careful. Driving the three hours to get back to Ann Arbor certainly didn’t help, nor did the nasty head and chest cold I picked up over the weekend and am just now getting over. To heal the back I knew I needed to be moving around, but to heal the cold I knew I needed to rest and drink fluids and let it run its course. Conflicting remedies caused by my body going to war against itself as punishment for taking it for granted. Geez…!!!

This was clearly a wake-up call (days before my birthday…) that I’m not invincible, and a reminder to listen to what my body tries to tell me. We all manifest the aging process in different ways, and I realize now that I can’t always just push through and assume there won’t be consequences.

One of the silver linings to the aftermath of the hiking weekend is that I am retired, thankfully. I could easily cancel whatever activities I had scheduled in the following days and just give myself the time and space to heal.

So I did. And today I am feeling well enough to share it all with you.

As my birthday approaches I’m hoping for another snowstorm, but it looks more likely to be rain. So it goes in winter…