Let It Snow

The snow has officially started to fall this week in Wabash, not that it’s a snow globe county, and nowhere else got snow, but it is beautiful. For those who think otherwise, I would like to publicly apologize in advance because I wanted a lot of snow this year, and I think my wants were heard. Now what wasn’t heard was the safe driving conditions, but that is for another day.

My love for snow started when I worked on my best friend, Karen’s (Bones, a nickname), farm. She would tell stories of the “Iditarod,” where she spent time working the event. The dogs would be barking, excited to run, and off they would go, 12 to 16 in two lines behind the lead dog pulling the sled and owner off into the wilderness for 1,049 miles.

One day, when we had enough snow, Bone’s hooked up a small team of sled dogs of her own to an old wooden sled she had used for years. It was finally the day she was going to teach me to drive the sled. I understood, at that very moment, the excitement that built when the dogs were placed on their leads. The barking, the jumping in place, the kicking of snow, the crazed look in their eye; it was all part of their DNA. Now I wish I could say I had a team of 16 dogs, all full power, young, and sprite, but atlas, they were two old, twin dogs who acted younger than what they were. What can I say? When I stepped on the back of the sled for the first time, and she signaled for them to go, it didn’t matter; we were off!

“Chief”

Her driveway was lined with trees; the goal was not to run into any of them, a job well done.  A sharp right turn took you through a curvy, tight, back-and-forth path in the woods that opened into the farm field path, where the horses watched in the large pasture to the right of the lane. I leaned into each curve, as the dogs threw snow, my hands tightening on the handlebars. All of a sudden, I heard a squeal! Not the kind that had a tone of distress, but of excitement. It was me, the joy and excitement were too much; I was bubbling over.The large draft horses stood in wonder as I swooshed beside them; they seemed to stomp in applause at the fact that I hadn’t fallen off or hit anything yet.

The field was a large rectangle, the pathways for the tractors outlined the pastures with the barn in the center, and in the far corner was a hilly field where she harvested hay, which was the destination. Behind me, the gator engine became slightly louder. I turned my head; through the glass windshield, I could see an overwhelming smile, and then, a nod of approval. Iditarod here I come!

Time had stopped; it was just the dogs and me out in the wilderness. The only sound was the dog's paws breaking through fresh snow and the runners of my sled scraping against the surface. My breath, heavy in the air as the wind swept through the open field, creating tumbleweeds of snow. I was on a stage, and the world rejoiced.

I took a faded left turn, and I began to help the dogs like Bone’s had taught me. On foot on the foot board, the other pushing as we began to climb the rolling meadow. By the time we took the edge of the tree line, the dogs were beginning to wear down. Bones had passed me by the pastures and parked where she believed they would begin to be too tired.

“That was so much fun!” I said, yielding the dogs.

She laughed, “You did well! They will make it to the house, but they won’t be as fast.” A pause, “It has been a while for them, but they seemed to enjoy it too. Make sure you help them a lot on the way back.”

“Ok!”

We were off once again.

“Chief”

Years have gone by, the dogs are no longer here, but those memories with my best friend can never be taken. It is a special opportunity to be taught by someone you admire, someone who truly desires to pass the knowledge and experience on to someone else. Yes, being on the back of that old, wooden sled was an experience of a lifetime, but the smile and nod I witnessed was a lifetime of experiences. That, my dear readers, I will never forget.