tromping

The snow is three feet deep, more where the wind has blown it into drifts. Plenty deep for snowshoeing. Almost too deep for my too-small snow shoes. Before we had kids, Will and I used to scrape enough money together on cold weekends to rent snowshoes and hike around Triangle Lake near Mount Hood. Our newlywed budget didn't stretch to ski rentals and lift passes, but snowshoes it could handle. And the slow, stop and admire the blue sky and the white snow pace of it was perfect for us.

It's been that long. I think we may have tried to snowshoe with a very small Briton in a backpack carrier, but it didn't work very well, babies being not big fans of freezing cold wind on their faces. But yesterday we all strapped on our snowshoes, bundled up in our ski gear, grabbed a pair of sled and tromped over the creek and through the woods and up a hill to the golf course where the best sledding hill made an excellent prize at the end of the hike.  They were troopers, laughing when they fell down, figuring out how to use poles to push themselves back up, keeping up with daddy's very big footprints. I think they were a little amazed too, at walking on the snow instead of sinking into it. I love that they are old enough for it. Big enough to keep up, so that we can head out into the snow together for a family tromp. What can be better?