We thought we’d spend our second Sunday in Advent on an afternoon hike at a nearby conservation area walking the trails. While there were enough people with the same idea, we couldn’t help but obsess over how much colder it was than we thought when we first stepped out the door.
Dearest with the wheels was only wanting to sport a sweatshirt in the beginning. Dearest with Pickles the Pig had tales of woe as to why she shouldn’t wear her good made-for-Canadian-winters kind of coat, and came out donning her medium strength church-y one instead. And there was even uncertainty as to it being hat weather. Good thing mamas are made of practical stuff and come prepared with a bag of “just in cases.”
Dad was, of course, on wheel patrol, popping those muscles to oblivion going full speed up hill on a tilt with the chair, impressing the on-lookers with his He-man strength. Go daddy! Coming back downhill may seem easier by far, but from the view of the one sitting in the chair it’s rather a roller coaster-ish, heart-stopping experience. But as you can see, they are happily sitting at the bottom of the hill, over the bridge, and none the worse for the wear.
As the hike progressed, the conversation seemed to lessen. Someone would start to say something and halfway through, the words came out all slurred, or seemingly frozen in air. I was realizing that most of us were icing over in the cheek area and it was taking that much more muscle strength to speak. Pink noses, icy cheeks, tingling toes (because why wear boots when there’s no snow?!), and numb fingers brought us all back to the van glad we lived not five minutes from home and could promptly put the kettle on for tea and hot chocolate.
We all felt that nice feeling one gets from having spent time in the great outdoors, breathing in the crisp air, exercising our lungs and limbs, and thankful for the warm abode to come home to. The frozen cheeks and frozen words were worth it for the thaw that followed.