By Sharon M. Kennedy
For years it was my custom to slip into my Bearpaw boots that I kept attached to my snowshoes. Once my feet were in place, I picked up my ski poles and started breaking trails in my back yard. Every day I tramped them down and made new ones. I walked around an old building we always called the wellhouse. From there, I walked to the edge of the woods before turning around and heading homeward. It was easy going if there hadn’t been a fresh snowfall. I simply followed the same trails and walked for an hour or so before calling it quits for the day.
I tried to keep the old trails open in an effort to save my energy for breaking new ones where the snow was deep. Last winter I was 74 and continued to challenge myself. I never gave a second thought to my age or the pressure I was putting on certain body parts. Alas, this year my snowshoes have not been called into action. They’re still in the closet where I put them when I made my last backyard walk in March or April.
Age is something I never paid much attention to. I’ve always been fairly active and didn’t notice age creeping up on me. Well, it didn’t really creep. It pounced. It does that, you know. It attacks when you least expect it. Nothing prepares you for the shock of aging especially if you’ve been independent all your life.
A snowshoe trip to the wellhouse