Dear Winter... An Open Letter To Snow, Ice and Jack Frost.

Dear Winter,

I awoke this morning to sunnier skies and warmer temps than I’ve experienced in months. The nearly 4-foot high snow drifts in my front yard have melted down to 2 feet, and the icy ruts in the road that prevented me from driving my 2-wheel drive vehicle around town are gone. People are out and about trail running, road biking, and enjoying the first sunshine of 2019.

Walking past the river, the seemingly endless ice dams covering the river from bank to bank, are gone. The ice has broken and the river is free-flowing once again. The banks are still covered in snow and ice, but being able to see moving water again is, in my book, the first official sign of Spring.

With this first sign of Spring comes my first feelings of seasonal anxiety. Prior to today, it was ski season. Temps never rose above freezing, and Spring activities weren’t an option. Skiing was the only option, and the only decision I needed to make was which drainage in the Bitterroot Mountains I wanted to explore that day. But today, I find myself in a dilemma. Do I continue skiing and enjoying the slightly safer backcountry conditions that Spring brings? Or do I break out my boat, paddle, and enjoy the first Spring river runs of the season?

Realistically, it is still ski season in the mountains. It has not warmed up enough to melt the snow up high, and some of the bigger backcountry lines are actually just now becoming stable enough for skiers. Again, rationally, temperatures in town are still in the lower 40’s. There is still ice on the river banks, and the river levels are low. It is not kayaking season.

And yet, I can’t help but feel the itch to get into my boat. It has been way too long since I have felt the splash of whitewater on my face. Since I have felt nervous at the top of a rapid. Since I have had the satisfaction of being taken down the river by gravity. But when I think about it, this is also what I did in the fall with skiing. As soon as the first storm came in November, I was skinning up the local ski area, nearly a month before it opened up for the season. Just so I could get a few good turns in. It wasn’t yet ski season, but I was so eager for the season to change… so eager to see you, Winter, that I ignored this fact. I was thinking in terms of the future. Not in terms of the present. I couldn’t wait for you, Winter. But that was then, and this is now.

It’s not that I don’t love you, Winter.

I’m not seasonally confused. But I am over it. I am over the icy ruts in the road. I am over having to put on my expedition parka and pack boots just to take out the trash. I am over having to turn on my car 20 minutes before I need to head out in the morning, just to thaw the nearly centimeter-thick ice layer on my windshield. I am over waking up 30 minutes early to shovel the sidewalk. I am over you, Winter.

It’s not that I don’t love you, Winter. I do. I love the snow. I love skiing. I love ice skating. I love drinking whiskey cocoa after a cold day in the mountains. I love it all.

But I have gotten everything out of my relationship with you that I can. I am ready to go kayaking again. I am ready to go trail running in shorts. I am ready for barbecues and campfires. Bike rides and river runs. I am ready for something new. I am moving on.

Spring understand me better. Spring and I share the same plans for the future. We share the same values that you, Winter, just don’t have.

So, with that, I am ending our monogamous relationship. But I am just wondering… can we stay friends?

After all, December is only nine months away...