I try to walk with my children daily. I really do. But, you know, sometimes life gets in the way—there are soccer practices, doctor visits, and, of course, the weather. A little drizzle is fine, but a downpour? No thanks. Then there’s the occasional illness, which can also throw a wrench in my plans.
Winter walks aren’t the most enjoyable, I’ll admit. Still, they matter. There’s something about them that feeds the soul. Even though they can feel more challenging, my older kids and I usually manage to fit in about two miles each day, barring any setbacks.
Just like everyone else
Thankfully, we live on the outskirts of a small northern Michigan town, which makes connecting with nature pretty straightforward. If you step out the front door and walk for about ten minutes, you’ve got trails and cornfields to choose from.
Spring brings a certain stickiness to the air. It’s cool and damp, with that unmistakable scent of flowers getting ready to bloom. You hear rain tapping on leaves while boots squelch through muddy patches. Spring just has this revitalizing smell, like fallen autumn leaves. It’s all about new beginnings.
Summer walks? They’re a delight. We usually head out in the late afternoon when the heat is beating down and shadows stretch long. It’s that magic hour before the mosquitoes come out and right after work winds down. By the time we return home, dinner is nearly ready for the grill.
Autumn strolls are a treat as well. Something about that first chill in the air feels so refreshing after summer’s sticky heat. It happens gradually, starting in late September. I swap my shorts for corduroys, zip up my jacket, and step into a world bursting with oranges, reds, and yellows.
A challenge
Winter walks can be tough. The cold is fierce, the snow piled high, and the wind relentless. Living in the Deep North means our winter days are often devoid of sunshine. It’s common for the sky to be a constant mix of gray and cobalt for over a week.
On a day like today, we bundle up—sweaters, snow pants, thick jackets, balaclavas, mittens—and set out for our walk. I won’t sugarcoat it; these recent outings have been tougher than strolling on a warm day. There’s less chatter during winter walks—it’s hard to speak clearly through a balaclava, and the wind drowns out my kids’ voices. Standing out in a frozen field at around 11 degrees, with a wind chill of -6? Yeah, that’s not the most pleasant experience.
Memories
Even if winter walks aren’t as enjoyable as others, they’re still essential. They’re good for us—mind and body. Sure, it’s uncomfortable, but pushing through those challenges builds strength. And we know that, often, growth doesn’t come without a bit of discomfort.
It’s important to cultivate resilience from a young age, and doing that together bonds us. Honestly, that connection is why I prioritize these walks in the first place. It’s a chance to step away from screens and just be present with my children.
Sometimes, I wonder how my kids will recall their childhoods. What memories will stick with them? Will they reflect fondly on us or have a more complicated perception? What do they keep in their hearts, and what fades away?
Lessons in walking together
It’s impossible to predict how they’ll remember these years, just as my own parents couldn’t know how I would view mine. I had a fantastic childhood, but the details are a blur. Sure, I have some vivid memories, but not all 18 years stand out.
Still, I sincerely hope my kids will remember our afternoon walks. I imagine them, in their 30s, sharing stories about their experiences with their own children.
“My dad walked with us every day, even when it was bitterly cold. He might have seemed a bit crazy, but it was good for us. I remember my sister and me trailing behind, trying to keep up with Grandpa, throwing snow at each other. Then my dad would turn around and hurry us along because dinner was on the way.”
Eventually, my kids will carve out their own paths. Some days, that seems worlds away, while other days it feels just a blink away. Until then, we keep putting one foot in front of the other.
