My return to Canada from Australia happened at the best time possible. I now live in the Land-of-Opposite, having left the searing heat of an Aussie summer. Friends have already complained of 42C temperatures and the need to seek shelter from the intense heat. But here in Ontario, we had been graced with the possibility of having a white Christmas. When I spoke of recent temperatures already dipping low as -23C, the very thought sent audible shivers across the phone.

Once off the packed trails, the snow was over two feet deep, hindering our venturing into the woods for a walk with the dogs. Thanks to snowshoes, my daughter Roxanne, managed several kilometres every day, trekking through sections of the 100 acre woods. My competitive nature kicked in and grumbled that I’m old but not yet ancient; badgered me to give it a go!

How hard could it be, I scoffed to myself. Strap on an oversized set of thingy-bobbers to your boots and toddle off. I appreciated my optimistic, no problem, spirit. By the time I got kitted out with show pants, a puffer jacket beneath the outer shell of my winter coat, a hat, and goggles – for the now blowing snow -I was ready to slap on my snowshoes. As Roxanne explained the mechanics of the bindings, her practiced fingers worked to adjust then snug me and my feet into the bindings in seconds over a minute. Wow, I was impressed.

“How do I walk?” I asked while adjusting my hat and mitts, then placing the most amazing goggles over my eyes. When she didn’t answer, I looked around to discover she was already several metres ahead of me.

“I’ll go first to break the snow and establish the path,” she shouted over her shoulder. “Just walk, Mom, you’ll figure out your centre of gravity. Walk with your legs further apart. Stay focussed on the track and be mindful of the dogs.”

Gravity? Oh hell, negotiating that force of nature should prove interesting. Falling never concerned me. How could anyone possibly break a hip tumbling into two plus feet of cold fluff? Rather, it was my extraction after being buried in all that structurally unsupportive, cold fluff. My mummified body from all the outer protective layers of clothing, and an unstable right hip and right knee, was where my concerns rested.

“I’m old but I’m not ancient. A piece of cake, Steph! Walk on,” I urged myself.

The trek across the driveway and through the dog training field actually was a piece of cake. Thanks to regular snowplowing, little snow accumulated because of the utility of those areas, parking cars and dog training. However, the trail at the end of field presented another scenario. It wove between trees heavily draped in snow and around a now frozen pond.

Walking with splayed legs was awkward, but doable. Keeping my eyes on the trail was easy, but being mindful of the location of the bounding canines dashing through the snow, off and on the trail proved hazardous.

When the adult female Dutch Shepherd bounded past me, I turned to see the location of the two Belgian Malinois. The toe of my snowshoes crossed. Despite my valiant attempt to remain upright, I toppled just as the adult female Malinois shot past me. Her young female followed several strides behind, but pivoted and raced back to me, thinking it was wrestle-with-grandma-time. She pounced and playfully sunk her teeth into my glove before attacking and destroying the pompom on my hat.

In my flailing to escape the little canine terror, my eyes caught sight of Titus, an adorable lumbering Griffin. As he loped toward me, I noted that upon the long auburn hairs on his furry legs hung tiny snowballs, and a layer of snow sat upon his muzzle. Thoughts of him licking my face while being mauled by the baby of the pack sent me scrambling to right myself but I failed.

Following a brief enjoyment of the entertainment, Roxanne summoned the dogs, enabling me to tackled the second principle of the day. Mastering a successful extrication from the snow. I admit it was neither pretty nor graceful. Between the inflexibility derived from the added layers of clothing, my oversized clown feet, and the unstable snow, I thrashed and rolled and toppled several times before succeeding.

That lesson was the most valuable one. It required serious problem solving. It required me to focus on how to re-establish my centre of gravity while working around the limitations of the compromised body mechanics of my hip and knee issue, the constraining clothing, and those thingy-bobbers attached to my boots. Intervention on a heavily treed and tight trail was not a viable solution. The situation demanded self-reliance. Once I set myself upright, and my daughter ensured I truly was unharmed, the rest of the trail we travelled in mindful awareness.

The dogs’ excitement had eased by the time we moved into a second training field and headed toward a third. They playfully bounded and leaped through the deep snow with each other over the ten acres of treeless land. It was here I learned how to create level walking trails by stepping next to Roxanne’s left footprint with my right foot to compress the snow left unimpacted by her steps.

The arrival home was accompanied by a sense of satisfaction. To my amazement, I accomplished covering six-thousand steps while learning the elementary basics of navigating the trails in snowshoes and extricating oneself from a difficult situation. I now wonder how tomorrow’s lesson will fare.