View From A Prairie Home by Hege Herfindahl

Tracks in the Snow

It has been so cold. So cold that I couldn’t go outside. It snowed first, beautiful, fluffy flakes falling down. So pretty. I sat inside knowing what I would do before the frigid air set in. Before the prairie winds started blowing. 
I went to our little white shed where my sweet husband has set up a whole wall of ski racks. With old skis and our new skis, one of which I took down and soon I was off. Skiing. Fast and furious on the tracks meticulously made by Grant by first mowing the CRP grasses several times to make hiking and skiing paths. Then, when it did snow, we made ski tracks and now we have several rounds. 
And because not all fields around here are flat, we do have hills too. Not steep but still hills to ski down. Wind blowing in my face. Blowing away my angst and despair. My worries and anxieties. My fury. My sadness. My helplessness.  I focus. On skiing. I ski fast. 
When I run fast or even jog, my back starts hurting and I must go to the chiropractor, who says with my sclerosis of the spine, I shouldn’t be running. But I can ski. I can ski fast. I can ski until the adrenaline fills my being. The anxiety falls away and it is only the sky, the snow, the slight hills, my skis and me. 
The wind starts up, but I am now in the zone. I can’t stop. And as the skis seem to slide by themselves and get into a rhythm, second nature for me since early childhood, my thoughts go to my father. Who taught me to ski when I was a mere toddler. Who taught me to love books. Nature. Snow. And skiing.
We would ski together every weekend. For hours. The miles falling away as we skied side by side on the groomed trails of Nordmarka. And we could talk. Really talk. I could tell him everything. And he me. So. It was only then, while skiing that he had to courage to talk about the war. 
Norway being under the brutal regime of Nazi Germany for five long years. My father, one of many, doing the dangerous work of the underground. So much involving skis. Escaping from Gestapo. Invading Norway from the east with his troop at the end of the war. 
Some of his fellow resistance fighters managed to blow up the heavy water as the Nazis was trying to transport it from the narrow valley at Rjukan to Germany. The heavy water was going to be used to develop the atomic bomb. His friends skied both to get to Rjukan and escape later. 
As we skied further into the woods where no grooming had been done, my father led the way. Making tracks for me. My own ski tracks are now feeble in comparison. 
He would have been horrified if he had known what is going on in the country where his daughter, grandchildren and great-grandchildren live now. And it is happening here. In Minnesota. Terrorizing people. Making them afraid to leave their houses for fear of being arrested. People having to carry their passports to prove they are citizens. The killings on the streets of Minneapolis. My father would have encouraged me to do my part. And I wish I knew how.