I’ve been a sort of snowshoe evangelist for the past several winters, and especially this incredibly snowy one (we got more snow on Christmas than we have any year since 1950!). Of all the winter sports, this is the one that requires the least skill and the least investment: if you can walk, you can snowshoe, and a pair of shoes that set you back less than $100 (far cheaper than most skates, skis, and snowboards) will take you into wintry places you’d never get to by yourself. And you can do it pretty much anyplace with good snow cover: around the block, through the park, across the yard. Our favorite spot is the oak savanna preserve on West River Parkway, a few blocks from home.
Sledding, I suppose, is a cheaper winter sport–a decent saucer sled shouldn’t cost more than $10, and you can get a few runs out of a piece of cardboard before it disintegrates–but you need a hill to do it. And hills are sometimes hard to come by here on the plains.
The day after Christmas, the boys and I headed out about 10:00 AM for a sledding hill near Minnehaha Creek. We were surprised and delighted to find that we had the hill to ourselves: no dodging people who insist on climbing up the middle of the slope, no waiting in line for the big icy bump, nothing but fresh powder all the way to the bottom.
About a half hour into our sledding, a white truck pulled up and two cameramen from KARE-11 News (they have snazzy blue ski jackets) arrived and started filming the boys in flight. The boys were unphased by the cameras; if anything, they seemed a little annoyed–they were like a couple of surfers looking for the big wave, and didn’t have time to be pestered.
Other sledders arrived, and a few hammed it up for the cameras, but we continued in our serious sledding. We finally broke for lunch at about noon (and scheduled the TiVo to record all the KARE-11 news shows). Our piece played at 4:00 PM (opposite Oprah) and at 5:00 AM; but you can see it here: we benefited from good editing (I especially like the “whoosh” of Peter’s sled going over the jump).
This was a completely unintentional triple (or more?) exposure; the sprocket holes on the film tore, and it took a few frames for things to slide back into place. Still, I like the serendipity of it.
A couple of bits of Christmas cheer in case you’re looking for help getting your spirits in the right mood:
Six funny stories from Kevin Kling: this whole broadcast from MPR is fabulous, but of particular interest today are his story of making a friend at an Uptown bar and how to ask God to ask Jesus to tell Santa that you need a squirrel monkey. And if you need a last-minute gift, grab the book.
Christmas Past: Dick Gordon talks to illustrator and author Tomie DePaola about Tomie’s Christmas adventures, from a 1940s childhood full of magic fireplaces and war-time blackouts to Gregorian chants at a New England monastery to a San Francisco apartment festooned with a dwarf forest. There’s a great book behind this one, too; I picked up the last copy at the East Lake Street library, but no doubt it’s floating around elsewhere . . .
Wainamoinen, old and trusty,
From his couch arose the artist,
From his couch of stone, the blacksmith,
And began his work of forging,
Forging Sun and Moon for Northland.
Kalevala, Rune XLIX, translated by John Martin Crawford
Wainamoinen, old and trusty,
Thought awhile, and well considered,
How to kill the mighty oak-tree,
First created for his pleasure,
How to fell the tree majestic,
How to lop its hundred branches.
Sad the lives of man and hero,
Sad the homes of ocean-dwellers,
If the sun shines not upon them,
If the moonlight does not cheer them
Is there not some mighty hero,
Was there never born a giant,
That can fell the mighty oak-tree,
That can lop its hundred branches?
Kalevala, Rune II, translated by John Martin Crawford
Young and aged talked and wondered,
Well reflected, long debated,
How to live without the moonlight,
Live without the silver sunshine,
In the cold and cheerless Northland,
In the homes of Kalevala.
Long conjectured all the maidens,
Orphans asked the wise for counsel.
Kalevala, Rune XLIX, translated by John Martin Crawford
Come bedecked then to thy chamber,
Thus return to this thy household,
To the greeting of thy kindred,
To the joy of all that know thee,
Flushed thy cheeks as ruddy berries,
Coming as thy father’s sunbeam,
Walking beautiful and queenly,
Far more beautiful than moonlight.
Kalevala, Rune IV, translated by John Martin Crawford
These night pictures pose a few more challenges than usual: the traffic on West River Road isn’t heavy, but sneaking in a longer exposure between headlights takes some luck; the metering is bad guesswork at best; the mirror on the Spotmatic often gets stuck in bulb mode, which means I can’t see anything through the viewfinder; and the dog doesn’t understand why she has to wait 30-90 seconds while I stand behind the tripod and try to keep her from tangling up the shot. And it’s cold. Really cold. Hasn’t been above freezing in Minneapolis since Thanksgiving.
I am tall, and sound, and hardy,
Have no flaws within my body;
Three times in the months of summer,
In the warmest of the seasons,
Does the sun dwell in my tree-top,
On my trunk the moonlight glimmers,
In my branches sings the cuckoo,
In my top her nestlings slumber.
Kalevala, Rune XVI, translated by John Martin Crawford
Young Kullervo has not perished,
Has not died among the branches
Of the oak-tree where we hung him.
In the oak he maketh pictures
With a wand between his fingers;
Pictures hang from all the branches,
Carved and painted by Kullervo;
And the heroes, thick as acorns,
With their swords and spears adjusted
Fill the branches of the oak-tree,
Every leaf becomes a soldier.
Kalevala, Rune XXXI, translated by John Martin Crawford
Three pictures today (click the “Image One”, “Image Two”, and “Image Three” tabs to switch from one to the next), for largely geeky reasons:
Between my neighborhood and the Mississippi stands an oak savanna, a tiny piece of the kind of land that existed before the Europeans arrived. It’s a fascinating chunk of land, perfect for my current experiments in night photography. Maybe too perfect–my little audience doesn’t need to be subjected to a whole roll of pictures of oak trees in the snow in the dark.
The contractor I’m working with at the day job mentioned the YUI JavaScript framework; lately I’ve been pushing paper instead of writing code at work (and loathing every second of it…), so this was a chance to take a look at this framework and try it out in a new context. It’s pretty easy to use, and I may tinker with it a bit more in coming weeks.
Louhi, hostess of Pohyola,
Northland’s old and toothless wizard,
Makes the Sun and Moon her captives;
In her arms she takes fair Luna
From her cradle in the birch-tree,
Calls the Sun down from his station,
From the fir-tree’s bending branches,
Carries them to upper Northland,
To the darksome Sariola;
Hides the Moon, no more to glimmer,
In a rock of many colors;
Hides the Sun, to shine no longer,
In the iron-banded mountain
Kalevala, Rune XLVII, translated by John Martin Crawford
Loan to me the strength of oceans,
To upset this mighty oak-tree,
To uproot this tree of evil,
That again may shine the sunlight,
That the moon once more may glimmer.
Kalevala, Rune II, translated by John Martin Crawford
The Kalevala is, of course, Finland’s national epic. It figured in a small way in my story Sunshine Over Helsinki, published in 2004 at failbetter.com. Northern epics are the perfect reading material for our chilly winters here in Minnesota.
All summer, the alley on our block is busy with kids on bikes and skateboards; it’s the main highway between the blocks, and the surest place to find the short family members when it’s time for supper or baths. In the winter, though, it’s an eerily peaceful place, the silence broken only by the soft scrape of snow shovels.
With a keening swirl of sound (great pipes really are an outdoor toy . . .), the Brian Boru Pipe Band marches in to start the Failte Minnesota Green Tie event. (Low light, slow film, and a cúpla piontaí Guinness conspired to add some blur to this picture . . .)
Ultan Duggan (Mendota Heights councilman among other things) and Bill Watkins (author of “Celtic Childhood” and “Scotland is Not for the Squeamish”, frequently found at Merlin’s Rest) at the Failte MinnesotaGreen Tie Gala. Below is a rough cut of a little movie I put together for the event, to try to open some hearts and wallets for the proposed Irish Cultural Center. (The pictures aren’t mine; Dan Sexton bought them from a stock photography company–nice stuff, though not quite my style.)
Yesterday was all about scrambling to find boots and scarves and hats that have been put away since last winter, getting the shovels and sleds out of the garage, and re-learning the Minnesota winter driving skills we’ve forgotten during our too-brief summer (like judging your stopping distance when it’s not clear what’s between your wheels and the road). A good start to winter, all in all.
This picture was actually taken during the last blast from the winter of ‘06-’07; this pair of scarecrows stand in a yard at the corner of 46th and Lyndale, and change their outfits with the season.
Hard at work in the Children’s Museum block factory.
They’re predicting our first round of snow for this winter today–six to ten inches by the time it’s over. The first snow is always exciting; it gets a little old by March.
