Back to Fargo . . . Again

Arrived in Fargo late last night after a few days in Spokane where the snow had just melted. It was in the high 40s in Eastern Washington and spring had sprung. In contrast, this morning, it was 18 above in Fargo, and a light snow was beginning. It was like hitting rewind on the seasons. For me, returning to Fargo is always like hitting rewind on something.

I re-entered the complicated routine of a morning in a family with two active teenage boys and two busy working parents. Like a game of tetris, Enrico and I responded to the routine and less-routine demands of getting the day started. Alex got up and showered, Enrico got up and made coffee. I got up and drank said coffee. I drove Alex to meet the state swim team at a restaurant for breakfast while Max showered. Enrico had a Skype meeting while I drove Max to his middle school. Enrico showered while I cleaned up the kitchen. In between making sure Alex had money for his trip to state and Max had his homework done, I checked e-mails and watered plants.Then Enrico drove to work, while I went for a ski.

I brought both pairs of skis and poles--skate and classic--down to the river. The US geological survey team was setting up a device to monitor the river. I tried my skate skis first. The trail was in excellent shape, firm, no ruts, and the light dusting of new snow made the trail less slippery. Pole to the right, glide out on right ski, shift hips and transfer weight to left ski. Swivel torso to right. Quick pole plant, engaging core, pushing off, the fingers of my right hand pointing backward, getting the last bit of push off the pole, trailing along for a moment before shifting hips again to the left. Left knee over left ankle, nose leading a lovely glide. Somewhere between a dance and a workout, my brain wandered out of my body. I discovered it was still in Spokane, with John and Claire Keeble at their farm.

Yesterday, after a lovely breakfast of cream eggs, I went out  to the barn to admire a calf that had been born a few days ago. He was still getting used to his legs. John pointed out that the calf was only pretending to eat hay like his mother; he couldn't actually eat it yet. I watched how earnestly he engaged in this fake eating. Here he is taking a rest.

Next we went for a walk to the cliffs to see the flooded creek below. We noted the missing bark from several trees, the work of hungry porcupines.

On the way back, we saw the first buttercup. Claire said they used to bring the first buttercups to Olivia (John's mother). That got me thinking about Olivia and her husband Ray and the year Enrico and I lived here with them.

It was when John and Claire were on sabbatical to Alabama in the winter of 1995-96. We were supposed to take care of them--keep the wood box full, plow the mile-long driveway when it snowed--but, in reality, they took care of us. It was our first year of marriage, when we--like the calf--were still getting our legs under us. Being at the Keebles was a bit like playing house--it wasn't our home, yet we could live in it for awhile.   It was a sheltered year for us--we didn't have to face "real" life quite yet.  We had time to talk, to read, to walk around the beautiful 300 acres, to cook on the woodstove, to listen to each other. I finished my master's thesis in the fall, and flew to Alaska midwinter for my defense. Enrico was working on his MFA in fiction writing, and we both worked in the Writing Center as tutors. It was a good year.

I changed to my classic skis, but my wax was wrong, so it was mostly poling. The rhythm of poling lulled me back into my reflection on the trip to Spokane. 

After returning from the creek yesterday, I tagged along with John and Claire to feed and water the cows. It was warming up--nearly all the snow had melted. The calf was looking better. Clare said they would put the calf and mother out to pasture in the afternoon. It was ready. There was time for a quick lunch before I had to catch my plane. Clare, in that amazing way she has, magically prepared a Greek salad, and while we were eating lunch, we saw the first four robins of spring. Although it was good to see them and even better to feel the warmth outside, spring always makes me feel kind of sad. I like winter, when everything is frozen, waiting, and I can imagine so many possibilities.

I loved skiing around the Keeble's land in that year we lived here, knowing I would enjoy perfect solitude--there would be no one crossing my path. My mind was free to wander without interruption. I made my own trail, a loop around the property.

That spring, the Keebles returned from sabbatical, but Enrico and I were not quite ready to leave for Alaska.  We moved out into the back field, where we camped until it was a bit warmer, and then we were on our way, making our life for real, no more faking it. 

Back in the Bindings Again

Well, I was enjoying the cross-country skiing this year when something bad happened. It was the evening of Tuesday, December 17th. I was extremely stressed out, with end-of-semester duties & looming grading. It seemed like I would never get everything done, and I was scaling a wall of work that didn't seem like it would end until Christmas eve. Plus, I was trying to get ahead on household duties, knowing I would be having knee surgery the day after Christmas (torn meniscus). By 8pm, I was so wound up I knew I'd have trouble falling asleep, so I ditched everything to go for a moonlight ski. I even left Enrico behind--he offered to go with me--but I just felt I had to get out NOW. Alone.

It was a beautiful night, not too cold, clear, and the full moon was shining brightly. I could see the trail perfectly well, or so I thought. All the stress seemed to flow out through my skis, and soon I was flying along the trail. "Wow," I thought, "I feel great." I decided to go all the way to the I-94 bridge. Once I got into the trees in Lindenwood Park, it was a bit darker, but I kept pushing myself as hard as I could go. I just needed to. Then, suddenly, I hit a leaf with my right ski. That ski came to a stop, but my body kept going, stretching over my skis. I knew I was going to fall and made an effort to roll, but I only got so far as to swing my right hand across my chest, when I hit the ground. Hard. The impact knocked the air out of me, and I rolled to my side in agony. I could not get up right away. Basically, it felt like someone had just punched me as hard as they could on the left part of my chest, right where you would put your hand to say the pledge. I writhed around for a moment, took stock of my body, decided nothing was broken and then laughed at myself.

What a stupid clumsy fall!

Despite the impact, my intent to make it to the bridge prevailed, and I skied on, ignoring the pain. After I turned around, I saw some cars driving along the road, the passengers enjoying the Christmas lights up in Lindenwood Park. I decided I had to catch and pass the cars (insane, I know--I think I become a dog when I ski, no thought beyond "must chase"), so even though I had been skiing very hard (for me), I skied even harder. I chased down four cars, passed them, and stayed ahead until after I reached the section where the lights end, and they sped up, caught me, and passed me. It was only then that I slowed down a bit. I knew I was hurt, but nothing was broken, so I thought it best to just maintain a steady pace and get back home.

It was only after I got home and relaxed a bit that I realized I had really hurt my ribs. I had hurt them years ago in a fall during a mountain bike race, but I convinced myself that this was not really as bad as that. I slept all right and continued on my frenetic work pace the next day. It was only after 5pm, that I realized how very wiped out I felt. One of my grad students said, "You look really tired." Indeed, I did. In the following days, I was in constant pain. It hurt to breathe, and I dreaded having to sneeze. I realized that I probably had broken my ribs or damaged the cartilage. When I went in for my pre-surgery check-up, I mentioned it to my doctor, and he said, "Yes, they could be broken, but there is no treatment for that."
"I know," I said.
Somehow, I graded all those papers, working long, long days, through the weekend and right up until 5pm on Christmas Eve. I wryly thought, "Well, at least the pain keeps me alert to get this work done."
Honestly, I was looking forward to surgery just so that I could rest (and get some pain medication!)

The day after Christmas, I had knee surgery. It went well, and I got to stay awake and watch on the video monitor. I could see all these rough surfaces and watch as the doctor trimmed it all up. I went home and rested intensively for several days, gradually increasing my activity. At my one-week check-up, I felt great. The doctor took out my stitches and said I could return to my normal activities.
"So, I can go skiing?" I asked.
"Yes, but don't go too far the first time," he said.

I went home and got into all my ski gear and headed out. It was pretty cold, and I felt a bit awkward, but I didn't have any pain (except still a bit in my ribs), so I skied for half an hour and came home. The next day I biked for about 45 minutes. Still good.

Today, I skied all the way to I-94 again. I wanted to see if I could do it. Obviously, I didn't ski as fast as I did on that moonlit night, but I felt good. My ribs still hurt afterward, and it hurt to spit, but my knee was fine! Maybe I will be able to race after all this winter . . . We'll see.

So, in the end, I'm still a bit annoyed with myself for that stupid fall, but grateful to my doctor for a successful knee surgery. It was great to be on the trail, and it wasn't even that cold--one degree above zero, and a bit of wind. I was thoroughly warm after the first 5-10 minutes. The sun was out, but getting low in the sky, the orange color deepening against the snow, the trees dark and beautiful in the patterns they made against the sky. I love to be outside in winter. Although I enjoyed the much needed rest, a week indoors made me kind of sad. I love to breathe in the crisp winter air and feel the sun on my face. The joy it brings me makes me exclaim odd statements of gratitude as  I ski: "Beautiful!" and "Thank you" and "Pure Joy." Thankfully, there was not a single soul besides myself on the trail today to wonder if I'd lost my mind. 

First Ski of Winter 2013-2014

I had to leave work after lunch to pick up the Subaru--a new windshield had been installed. I noticed how bright it was after the snowstorm, and thought about how tired I was from making editing changes to my book manuscript all morning. Why not go for my first ski? The work will still be there in the evening.

When I got home, Noko looked at me imploringly. "OK," I thought, "Let's make it a skijor so he can enjoy the outing too." It took all of 15 minutes to change & gear up--everything was easily accessible thanks to my darling husband's wonderful basement organizing skills. When I brought out the harness, Noko supplicated himself in front of me, bowing his head right down to the ground for me to slip the harness over his head and then patiently stood on three feet while I slipped a front forefoot into one side of the harness, and then the other. We started off down the street, climbed over the dike, and slid down the other side. Sundogs glistened on either side of the bright sun. This morning I had noticed the first subzero temperature of the winter, but now it was a balmy 3 degrees above zero.

We started out, making first tracks, a lovely feeling. Well, in the spirit it is a lovely feeling. In the legs, it soon felt like burning--THOSE muscles haven't been used quite like THIS in awhile. And Noko, as happy as he was to be out, was more interested in zig zagging in front of me, trying to catch a whiff of the many smells under the new snow, rather than moving forward in a straight line and pulling. Fine. Like him, I was just happy to be outside.

It was a bit windy, not too bad, but it must have been very windy earlier because the snow had been sculpted into a variety of repeating patterns. Sometimes the wind had shaped the snow to look like sand carved by waves at the beach. Other times, the wind had created patterns resembling a topographical map, with curving lines demarcating areas of higher elevation. One part looked like mesas in the desert (if the desert were white) and I felt myself a giant on the land, striding across desert valleys to the next mesa.

Such reveries were rudely interrupted by a tugging on the line. Noko had stopped to squat. I felt in my pocket, no poop bag! Grrrr. OK, it's our first time out--can't think of everything. This would just give me an opportunity to double my ski by going home to get a plastic bag and heading out again, this time alone.

On the way back, Noko had a trail to follow (as did I) so he pulled a bit. After such a stint, he wanted major petting and encouragement, so I indulged him. This is our thing together. He knows that. We are both smiling now. Once we got back home, he patiently waited while I took off his harness and gave him a treat. Then I added a neck gaiter to my ensemble and headed out again.

As much as I like to ski with people and other animals, I love to ski alone. The solitude while skiing, to me, is the most perfect kind. I listen to the squeak, squeak of the largest trees rubbing against each other, the chirping of a bird, the whistling of the wind, the swish of my own skis. And then my mind is off and away, musing on this or that, free from the usual constraints.

With a bit of the trail skied in, I can put a little kick into my glide, but not TOO much, after all, this is kind of an experimental day. My research question is, Will my knee tolerate skiing well enough to put off surgery until spring, or should I get it done ASAP with the hope it will heal soon enough to enjoy enough of the winter? More data collection and analysis is needed, I decide.

Once I reach the end of the trail I broke, it remains for me to get Noko's poop in a group, get the plastic bag tied with a minimal amount of time exposing my skin, and the find the nearest trash barrel before heading back. Here are a few photos from my first ski of the winter, a 67-minute outing that made my day much more enjoyable.

Noko surveys the trail back home

One sundog

Wind-sculpted snow

Family, Fun, and Fitness: Cross-Country Skiing in Fargo

The swish-swish of my skis sliding over the snow, the freshness of the crisp winter air as I breathe deeply in rhythm with my strides, and the brightness of the low winter sun in the distance—these are some of the secret pleasures of getting out on my cross-country skis each winter.

“But isn’t it cold?” people ask, shivering at the very thought. Of course it is, but there are some tricks to dealing with the cold that I’ve learned in 35 years of skiing. In fact, I usually finish a ski as warm and sweaty as if I’d just played a game of basketball in the gym. Plus, I’ve gotten my daily dose of sunshine, which is important for Vitamin D production, especially in winter. Touring around the trails also invariably lifts my spirits and helps me acclimate to the season. Cross-country skiing gets the heart thumping and is an important part of enjoying winter and establishing lifelong habits of good health. 

Cross-country skiing is a great family activity. My parents—natives of North Dakota and Minnesota—taught me how to cross-country ski when I was eight years old. I have fond memories of looking for Easter eggs on skis during an overnight ski trip in Utah and watching the Northern Lights from the ski trails in Alaska. My two sons were born in Fairbanks, and I made sure to get them out on skis as soon as they could stand up.

When I was thinking about relocating to my birthplace of Fargo after 40 years of living out west and north in Alaska, I made sure to bring my skis with me for the job interview, so I could check out the cross-country skiing. The trail system next to the Red River of the North made a great impression, as did the collegial professors in the English department at North Dakota State University, who accompanied me on the ski trails.

During my first winter back in Fargo, I discovered that the Fargo Parks department has a dedicated trail maintenance crew that does a top job of maintaining three separate trails along the river to serve different users: the plowed bike path for walkers and winter cyclists, the smoothly packed trail for skate skiers, and finally, on the trail closest to the river, the set tracks for classical cross-country skiers.

In addition to the trails by the river, there is also a trail system at Edgewood golf course, where the Prairie’s Edge Nordic Ski Club and the Fargo Park District (www.fargoparks.com) hold ski lessons and fun races. While my children took lessons with more experienced skiers, I volunteered to help the newer skiers learn to ski. One of the great joys in my life is to introduce people to the wonderful sport of cross-country skiing.

Another highlight of last winter was taking my sons on their first moonlight ski by the river.  They were surprised that they could see well enough to navigate the trails and were amazed to see their shadows on the snow. One of the most exciting outings was a trip to Maplelag, a cross-country ski resort in Minnesota, where my younger son made it to the bottom of “Suicide Hill” without falling—a big boost to his confidence.

It was a sad day during the spring flood, when I saw an ice floe with two parallel ski tracks float by my house, because then I knew the ski season was really over! To make it through to the next ski season, I began writing a proposal for an after-school ski program at Clara Barton elementary school. I’m looking forward to another fun winter of cross-country skiing with family and friends. (615 words)

Name: Kelly Sassi

Age: 43

Hometown: Fargo, North Dakota

Ski Club:  Prairie’s Edge Nordic Ski Club (PENS) http://myweb.cableone.net/jcprmp/PENShome.htm

Occupation: Assistant Professor of English and Education, North Dakota State University

Career Highlights:

1984 Fairbanks Regional champion, high school cross-country skiing

1989-91 Middle school ski coach

1992 3^rd place Iditasport, a 200-mile race on the Iditarod trail in Alaska each February

1997 High school ski coach

Ski versification in the off season

When people wear their sweaters,

When snowflakes fill these letters,

I’ll kick and glide upon my skis,

Slip and slide until I freeze.

 

Me in 1982, about to go ski my first skiathon (a 20K race on the university of Alaska trail system)

Wondering about winter—

When will snow fill this hollow?

Wandering on my skis—

My Finnish ancestors I follow.

April 17th and still skiing, though the snow has lost its integrity, like certain academics I know, grump, grump

It was one of those 12-hour days in the office, and it seemed to snow all day long. Here is the view from my office. 

When I got home, Enrico had a nice pasta dinner ready, and Alex was playing violin. Ah. 

After dinner I harnessed up Noko, and we went out for a ski. Two observations:

1) Despite the fact that it has been snowing all day, the new snow could not keep up with the melting and there were exposed areas of the trail like the one in the photo below.

2) The snow has lost its integrity. How do I know? Well, when Noko and I were skiing around, every so often we would here a sound like Pshhhh! A whole plate of snow would then collapse. It was quite startling to Noko. It is a cool sound, like all the snow crystals are tiny bells that softly ring together. 

So, it is about over. Soon this little stretch of trail will be under several feet of water, as the river is expected to flood, possibly as much as in 2009. 

When I got back home, Enrico was looking at flood maps. I need to get a kayak and float far, far away from here. 

I can't believe I'm still skiing on April 16th!

Took my classic skis down to the river first thing this morning so that I could ski before it got too hot. The trail was in pretty good condition. Some parts were icy after melting and then freezing, which scraped my wax off. I did a lot of poling, which is just as well--balances out the lack of upper body work from my running. I caught up to a couple of older guys in Lindenwood, just out chatting and skiing. I love that. Then I  met a guy from Jamestown. He had heard on WDAY that our trails were groomed, so he drove all the way here to ski. He said his daughter had driven from Grand Forks to use the skate trail. COOL! Fargo is becoming the ski mecca I always knew it would be. On the way back, I skated for awhile since my wax was no good, and that was nice, except for the short poles. I saw a huge hawk in Pointe Park. Near the water treatment plant I saw some blood, fur, and bits of bark in the trail, so probably the hawk was having some hunting success. I skied for about an hour and a half. It was getting quite sunny by the time I finished, so this won't last long.