Dear Curiosity Journal,
In an easygoing Sunday motion, we drifted through unscheduled hours – repotting houseplants, spring cleaning, reading, checking the greenhouses, yoga, meditation, folding laundry, cooking, editing videos, checking the sheep, and an assemblage of everyday patterns. The fat flakes of falling snow stirred my inner child to the surface, from deep within my domestic routine. Staring out the window, I considered the prospect of one last cross-country ski. I announced to Rufus that I might need to get my skis out, and he agreed saying, “Let’s give it one more hour to cover the grass”, and we did. As we set out on the trail, I figured this would likely be our “Goodbye Winter Ski”, the final pass of the season – maybe (because with Mother Nature, you always have to throw in a “maybe”. We started out strong, sliding right along, but soon a soggier snow started sticking to the bottom of our skis, bogging us down. Each step created a layered stack of snowflakes, making a little ski stilt, which was both amusing and inhibiting. We stopped to scrape off our skis, and while Rufus was able to return to skiing, I couldn’t regain a sliding motion (only jerky steps and an awkward lurching forward). So, I finally resolved myself to hiking and carrying my gear. Then Rufus took off his skis “in solidarity”. I told him he didn’t have to do that, and I was fine hiking behind, but he said, “Nope, I’m solidarity-ing”, and I just thought that was the sweetest part of my Sunday, hiking uphill in a snowstorm, “solidarity-ing”.
~Joy
