January 6 and the skiing is GREAT!

This week I have been busy skiing in a skijor trail after we received a significant snowfall the evening of January 1st. It was perfect timing, as we had just returned from a visit to my aunt and uncle's farmstead near Evansville, MN, and the next morning we awoke to several inches of new snow. I spend the morning first skiing in a ski jor trail, then snowshoeing a trail on either side of the ski track for the dog to run on (and also to offer an option to walkers, who seem to like to walk in my newly made ski trails). The next day was windy--Enrico and I went out together to re-set the tracks. I did this again the next day and yesterday, and the trail is in very good shape again. Unfortunately, when Fargo Parks plowed the bike path, they threw up a lot of dirt, grass and sticks onto the trail. I skied that in too. I've been out for 1.5-2 hours each day perfecting our little trail. I got a blister yesterday, so I will take it a bit easier today.

Today, I want to share a poem celebrating new snow. It was written by my father, Clare Duklet. He was a mechanical engineer, and in his spare time, he used to sit with one of those green engineering pads on his lap and write poetry--even though he had no training in how to do so. He just wrote about what mattered to him. He wrote this poem when we were living in Salt Lake City, and I can remember days at Alta with fresh powder, and the wonderful feeling of carving turns in the deep, fluffy stuff.

Think Powder                                                                        

Perfect crystals

whiter than milk.

Highland water

dryer than talc.

Winter’s cover,

fluffing the trees.

Seasonal change

night air freeze.

Down with the sun,

shorten the day.

Drop the snow,

nature’s way.

Dance in the deep,

turning around.

Churn up powder,

without a sound.

November 8, 1977