The Ski Journal • Volume 16, Issue 3 • THE INEVITABLE TRANSITION

“It is wise to stuff ski boots in a dry bag to get to shore in Alaska’s Prince William Sound. The rubber dinghy can get a little rowdy and no one wants to start the day with wet boots.” Photo: Bianca Germain

I am sweating in my small apartment, standing over a massive pile of green beans collected from my garden. Overwhelmed by the high summer humidity, I catch a glimpse of my ski boots sitting in a corner. The boots I never got around to putting into storage at the end of a long season. The seasonal heat came too quickly, but now the sun is setting earlier and there is a certain chill when I wake up. I think of all the times I couldn’t feel my toes in those boots last winter. Winter is hats, mittens, big puffy jackets and the cold that seeps through all of it. The summer is abundance—flowers, sunshine, green beans. Life is easy. Alive.

In April, I wasn’t quite sure who I was without skiing. Spring was coming, but I couldn’t remember what else I did with my free time. Those boots were placed at the bottom of my staircase to be put into storage. Weeks passed and I didn’t touch them. Maybe we’d get one more storm. Maybe I’d go on a trip. Maybe I’d find some great excuse to slide my feet back into them, tighten each buckle and grin widely at my favorite ski partners because somehow we’d cheated, we’d found a way to halt summer’s progress.

I am never ready to give up the season I’m in. But then the snow melts or the leaves start to change. I spend weeks trying to remember who I am during the other half of the year. What do I like to wear in the garden? What do I like to eat on a ski tour? Maybe that’s why I didn’t have the heart to put my boots into storage—they’re a reminder of who I am in winter. A way to ease into the inevitable transition away from the thing I love to do most in this beautiful life.

When winter is over, I feel like something has been stolen from me. How did those months pass, and so fast? I get anxious for the turning of the seasons. But there is something beautiful in the transition from summer and abundance and evening rides on my mountain bike and spur-of-the-moment swims in wild lakes and moving, moving, moving all the time. The transition to slowing down. Noticing the colors autumn brings. The smells of late-season splendor and plants in their final cycle before a big sleep. The transition of falling back and waiting for the snow to fall, for those first turns. Of feeling glad I never put those boots away because they’re right there, ready to be used again.

The Ski Journal - Volume 16, Issue 3

THE INEVITABLE TRANSITION

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