Dancing Between Extremes.

The forest is dark, but not asleep. As we slip along the trail in the shadows of a slim moon, I feel all my senses aquiver, yearning for sound and for vision, yet gulping in the darkness like a delicious feast. Tonight, we have decided to cross-country ski out of the safety and warmth of the Gorman Chairback Lodge (AMC hut) outside Greenville, Maine, to experience the true dark of night; away from man-made lights. Away from mainstream madness. Away from the cooped-up chaos that is our life.

It is cold, perhaps ten degrees, and the interplay between the heat in my core and the chill of the night has created a feeling of dancing between two worlds; a perfect balance. Frosty tendrils of air tickle my ears and feel like kisses on my cheeks. Snow is falling gently, and our skis slide effortlessly across the crystalline flakes. The dark hills loop up and down carrying us forward. Beckoning us to go just a little further, and then further still.

It is too dark to make out any detail in the woods around us. I can see the silhouettes of tall pines on either side of the trail, the white snowy forest floor, and the forms of my husband and son up ahead. They appear to become one with the trees when more than a few feet grow between us, and I struggle to make out where they stop and the wilderness begins. My husband and I giggle crazily when we swoop down unseen steep sections, thrilled by flirting with the unknown. Never knowing how steep a hill might be, just trusting that the ground will rise again, loom up in the darkness and slow our descent. Oakley is more nervous, unsettled by what might lurk outside his vision. I whisper calming words, asking him to relax, reassuring him that out here, he is safe. It is so quiet. All my pores feel open in an effort to collect the peace found in this winter forest.

Two days later, and the darkness is behind us, now the bright white expanse of frozen Moosehead Lake slams against the brilliant blue winter sky. The air is filled with the sounds of snowmobiles revving their engines and ricocheting from one side of the lake to the other like hundreds of misquotes. We are wearing snowmobile jackets, helmets, pants, and boots so that our bodies are completely protected from the elements. We can’t even hear each other’s voices so we gesture emphatically to communicate. My son Oakley and my husband share one snowmobile, and I straddle another. “Be careful, Oakley!” I shout over the din. None of us have ever ridden a sled before, and the countless stories of careless accidents fill my head. He gives me a thumbs up and a grin and takes off, careening across the lake at what appears a break-neck pace. I chase after. Our sleds jump over snow-covered compression fractures and rattle over the icy trails left by others. Sometimes we cross large unmarred snowfields, and our runners slice through the snow effortlessly, making a zipper-like sound.

Oakley stands on his snowmobile, his bright red snow pants like a flag that boasts of unbridled happiness. I stand on mine and try to keep up, slowing whenever the terrain varies ever so slightly and speeding up to catch him again and again. We travel over 65 miles until my ears are swollen with the roar of the engines and can no longer hear quiet, until my eyes can no longer focus because of a slight snowblindness, and my thumb has cramped from pressing against the throttle. When we finally climb off our machines,and pull the helmets from our heads, Oakley is glowing as if he has just swallowed a bottle full of happiness, and my heart feels full.

Oakley and I keep stretching each other, forcing each other to try new things and hold fast through difficult challenges. We are following each other as we zig and zag through adventure, behavioral issues, and this pandemic. Each time, I push him, he resists, each time he pushes me, I resist, but it is through this interplay that both of us get to experience parts of life that awaken us. Yin and Yang, Ebb and Flow. Heartache and Joy. Darkness and Light. Sliding through dark forests and hurtling across stark frozen lakes.