Waldo and people tracks.
Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing at all.
-Helen Keller
Waldo and I are out on the Assebet River Rail Trail once more. I’m bundled up in rain pants, parka (with the hood up) and gloves. It’s a little chilly as we start out (the feel-like temperature is 18℉) and I instinctively hoof-it hard to build up some body heat. Waldo seems perfectly comfortable in his sable birthday suit and is happily cavorting around, searching for I have no idea what. It just started snowing and there is a dusting of the white stuff barely covering the blacktop underfoot. Even so, there are already a set of footprints heading the opposite direction from the way we’re going. The person who made them is not in sight, but he couldn’t be long gone.
For the moment, we’re out here alone – not a soul in sight. It’s not snowing hard, but even so, the ever-present city noise is muffled and easily ignored and forgotten. I can’t see or hear very far. We’re embedded in a chilly cocoon that makes the universe seem small and intimate. There are animals around, I can see squirrel and rabbit tracks in the snow, but I can’t hear or see them. They must have dashed over the ground in a rush to accomplish whatever it was they had to do so they could get back into their cozy hidey-holes ASAP. No lingering fur balls out here today! Except Waldo, of course, and he’s not lingering. We’re making a pretty good pace.
The subjective feeling of cold is a funny thing. I can remember skiing at the Alta ski resort outside of Salt Lake City, Utah, when it was really cold. I don’t know what the temperature was, but it was cold enough that my entire mustache was one icicle. For anyone who hasn’t had that experience, it hurts. A lot. I had to cup my hands around my face and blow warm air over my upper lip to melt the ice. Of course, that was only a temporary solution and needed to be repeated frequently. Still, I wasn’t feeling cold, just in pain. Skiing does burn off a lot of energy and the body heat generated is enough to keep you warm if you are at all rationally clothed. Except on the chair lift where you have to sit still and yet are high up in the arctic breeze.
There have been other times when the temperature was well above freezing and I was shivering and feeling very cold. Of course, I wasn’t wearing a parka and gloves, but it wasn’t that cold either. I remember sitting, in shirtsleeves, on the shore of Lake Travis in Austin, Texas, in the spring. Again, I don’t know what the temperature was, but I was shivering with goose bumps and uncomfortable. As an experiment, I decided to try to refuse to fight the cold and just let it be. The shivering stopped, but the cold sensation persisted. I discovered that there is a physiological sensation of cold (we do have temperature sensors in our skin) and a psychological component. If you dampen down the part that’s in your head and focus on the sensation of being cold without the need to do something about it, the result is quite interesting. Of course, it ain’t easy to hang onto that for long.
The same thing is true out here today, on the rail trail, with Waldo. In fact, the same is true of so many experiences – the thinking of a thing is often much worse than the thing itself. If I dread the thought of being cold, I am cold. If I don’t judge the cold and avoid thinking about it (but use intelligence about how I dress) I can really enjoy being out in the world when the temperature dips into the nether regions of the thermometer. The world is so much different; colors are more subdued and beige; nature is more quiet and calm. And yet, the universe is still full of potential adventure. Be intrepid, be bold, I tell myself. Hold no reservations about venturing out in the winter landscape. And so, I don’t.
Waldo is having a great time. He’s chasing sticks, tugging on his leash with his teeth, prancing about, looking for the next thing to smell and generally enjoying himself. Temperature be damned! Be like Waldo.
He’s a dog after my own heart.
Or, maybe, I’m learning how to be like Waldo…
Squirrel tracks.