Twiggy Higgy Off-Season

It was only a two-hour drive. The cabin and the surrounding environs were a shock of white snow and ice. After settling in, Grandma soon realized that there wasn’t much to do, and perhaps realized that the two-hour drive hadn’t provided the escape she was looking for. Once we exhausted the supply of board games, we decided to walk across the lake.

We suited up for our adventure, both of us wearing snow pants and coats left behind years ago by relatives or friends that were obviously much larger than us. We were slowed by the awkward clumsiness of the snow pants. I could barely move my legs. Once on the lake, our walk was further complicated by deep snow. Everything ahead of us was white, and behind us there were only a few abandoned cabins. At the beginning of our walk, we decided that the middle of the lake was our destination. There were icehouses there, and grandma was sure she knew some of the fishermen in the bright-colored tentlike domes and old wooden shacks. My eight-year-old self didn’t want to see anyone else. I didn’t want to lose a moment of grandma’s attention.

As our laborious walk continued, I realized along the way that we wouldn’t make it to the middle. All I had to do was not fall behind —she wouldn’t believe, or allow, my weakness to cut short the trip. I had to outlast her energy and then, only when she gave the word, would we turn around and head back to the cabin.

In keeping pace with stiff resolve and staring straight ahead, I remember a moment during the walk when I lost sense of everything around me and even where I was. This time felt like an hour; today I cynically concede it was maybe two minutes. If I experienced anything like it now, I would surely think it was an out-of-body experience. But I have never felt anything like that as an adult, though I’ve tried to replicate the feeling countless times in my memory, via drugs and other attempts at escape.

On either side of me there was nothing but a sea of white. There were no markers to indicate progress or even movement. The only focal points were the brightly colored icehouses floating in the barren distance. And with each deliberate and painstaking step in the deep snow—left, right, left, right—the bright dots bobbed. For that brief moment I was hypnotized, and during that time I felt infinity: there was no beginning and no end.