A warm walk in February

It was probably 45 degrees early last Sunday morning, warm enough to arouse any Montanan out of bed, coaxing a walk out of stiff joints that had rested too long.  The morning was just waking up and the stillness cocooned us as we snuck out of the neighborhood onto the long back road.  The one that kicks up a lot of gravel when a big truck passes.  The trek felt familiar, taking us back to the summer and fall mornings when we’d adjust once again to daylight by stretching our cramped muscles, a little tight from squatting and bending over our weeding and harvesting activities the night before.  I never think to do a pre-weed stretch or post-rake cool down, but we might be getting to that age.  Walking feels good.  We’re quiet to begin with.  I’m used to spending this time alone.  But after a few minutes I’m loose and more coherent, engaged now; we can chat.

Because we noticed a breather between snow storms Todd wanted to jump on the chance to take in the morning the way we’re used to when the weather’s warmer.  It’s been a tickler of a break; we realize it’s still February in Montana, not exactly time to plant springtime flowers.  But everyone’s on board.  Saturday neighbors were washing vehicles, I swept the garage, kids were on their bikes.  The warmth wakes you up, reminding you of summer.  A little respite from the sharp chill of winter.  Montana has a good mix of temperatures and weather conditions: a rainy afternoon just right for sweatshirts in the middle of August, a brilliant day with clear roads perfect for riding bikes in January. 

Still a contrast to the easy-going San Diego climate where I grew up.  Pretty temperate, not a lot of volatility.  Mostly warm days, a little overcast in the mornings.  You know where this is headed.  A little like life.  I’m also kind of slow to start, a little irritable without my time alone first.  But we both warm up eventually.   San Diego has its gray days, definitely some rain.  Nippy ocean breezes and a little more humidity.  But mostly pretty evenly sunny and warm.  How my uneventful life has mostly been.  It wasn’t till I moved away that people would ask how I liked growing up there and why I ever left.  I didn’t realize how beautiful it was, I was just amused when they’d make snow at Sea World in wintertime and enjoyed walking along the beach on Christmas Eve.  I didn’t appreciate the uncomplicated weather—or life—I’d been blessed with; both were easy to take for granted.

Like you, I experienced a few dull days growing up.  No one’s life is constantly bright.  I had unfulfilled dreams, insecurities, heart breaks, disappointments, and failings like all of you—some drizzly days.  An occasional hint of an earthquake, but no blizzards or tornadoes.  Like I said, it was a pretty straightforward childhood and climate.  I had it so good.

But then I moved to Utah for college.  License plates boasted The Greatest Snow on Earth, and visitors to BYU would ask me (as their tour guide) all the time if we got a lot of snow in Utah.  Hailing from Southern California I wanted to assure them, yes—piles of it.  I’d never seen so much snow in my life.  But I didn’t know what to compare it to, so I just guessed that it was a lot but told them to ask the native tour guides.  I’d definitely never been as cold as I was that first year at BYU.  I’d never felt such powerful homesickness.  I’d always kept a pretty busy schedule, but in college I felt deep pressure as I realized how ignorant I was and how hard I’d have to work, how long the hours would be.  I’d also never felt the depth of confusion as I did at this time.  Some days were downright frigid.  Water dropped from the skies and down my cheeks many times as I adjusted to new weather and life conditions.

Illinois six years later was even colder in some ways.  More humid.  Icy walks across campus.  Frost on the insides of our windows and snow sweeping under our apartment door.  Todd was gone to school from early in the morning till late at night.  Mothering was the least familiar part of my life.  I was such a novice.  The weather there played out in extremes, and so did our marriage and life.  I was stressed from working and being so tired and alone and new at being a real grown up.  Sometimes short-tempered and unsupportive.  And yet we made friends of a lifetime, and some of the best times of our marriage were found camping and hiking in state parks, sneaking in times to be together between his demanding school and work load.  We so enjoyed the warm days, and we sometimes just endured the cold winter nights.

We feel like we are home here in Montana.  I had some trepidation at first, still not acclimated to wintry weather even after all those years away from California.  Another cold spot.  Probably permanent.  Definitely snow.  And ice.  But we took a step in the dark and have made a little life here.  We live outside in the summer months: gardening, hiking, camping, walking… the good times are easy to love.  But I appreciate the sun more now than I ever did growing up because I know how dark and cold it can get now.  As I said, my life growing up reflected the weather—pretty easy, nothing note-worthy.  Easy to take for granted.  But nothing makes you appreciate spring like having endured winter.  I wasn’t so good at dealing with the long, dark, cold and sometimes lonely winters in Illinois with little respite—just like most of us don’t think of trials and hard times as blessings, even though we need the moisture for future growth.  And I didn’t know to appreciate the relaxed sunshine of California when I had it so good.  I think we need a little mix, and Montana’s formula is just right for me.  I hate the inevitable negative 20 degree days, just as there are times you feel below zero in life:  all the appliances seem to be broken at once, you can’t seem to get ahead financially, you deal with one illness after another, relationships are off.  The details are different, but you know the story.  Harsh days you just endure.  But without these kinds of days, I wouldn’t know to be grateful for the brilliance of the good days.  I’m afraid I would continue to take them for granted.  I’m beginning to see the beauty in winter, in the long, dark, hard times, because those are the days you parcel out everything that is superfluous, you huddle together as a family, stoking the embers, maintaining the fire. 

But a pleasant day in February reminds me that there really is more to a year than just snowy days, cold winds from the north, and icy stretches of road.  More than the stresses of life, the heartaches, the worries that keep you awake.  Those days of respite tell us that spring always comes, even if we can barely remember what it used to feel like.  Taking a walk when it’s warm strengthens the heart, buoying us up for when we need to just hunker down for a time, titillating our memory.  A long walk on an unexpectedly mild February morning prompts us to hope for better days.  And tells us again not to take the warm ones for granted.