Yesterday was the first day of spring … allegedly. I don’t have to tell you how much of a forgery that feels like. To rub it in further, an “On this day in 2021” memory popped up on my social media showing my husband and me slip bobber fishing from The Pounder on open water.
Talk about rubbing it in.
It feels a little hypocritical writing this after January’s “Prairie Natives” article on toughing it out here on the plains in winter. But things have changed quite a bit for me since. Sure, I’d be a little fed up with ice fishing by now, but typically we’d still be battling the gusts and snow drifts, if nothing else, for some fresh air and a sense of adventure.
Yet, with a new addition in our lives, our nearly continued search for adventure has been, as anticipated, paused for the time being.
Fischer, born in late January, is just shy of 2 months. I knew my independence and affinity for staying busy, usually through time outside, was going to make parenthood difficult for a little while. In fact, we sort of intentionally planned to start the journey outside of most major hunting seasons for that reason.
I took for granted the wonder the outdoors must apparently do for my anxiety. I often wrote about how much I needed weekends in western North Dakota totally unplugged, and how we love Bismarck because even little weeknight getaways are possible. I never realized how much those breaks contributed to my mental health until now as we search for signs, any signs, that winter has finally cried uncle.
Like everyone else, we’re still waiting.
Before the latest rounds of snow, we did manage one small ice excursion. With Fischer vocally in tow, we turned up the radio en route to some favorite walking areas. The “first-born,” Finley, likely needed the snow trudges even more than me. It felt good to be out, with Fischer bundled and bouncing on my chest, thinking of the possibilities of what’s to come once the landscape transitions from white to green.
Similar to a lot of first-time mothers, I’m guessing, I’ve doubted myself, and continue to do so sometimes as I wander down this unknowing path. But like the certainty that winter will eventually slide into spring, I know those feelings will fade.
What has helped boatloads is the incredible support of family, friends, coworkers, and even strangers who have suddenly become allies in this secret parenthood society I now belong to. That, and daydreams of past and future adventures. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve closed my eyes and pictured prairie golden hours or perhaps, more appropriate for the coming season, the serenade of sunrise gobbles.
A pacifier for me as we wait with impatience for winter to finally take a hike, is fast forwarding in my mind to September. I picture little Fisch in his pack, munching on Goldfish crackers as Scott passes him a sharp-tailed grouse over his shoulder to stow away. I don’t know if that exact scenario will play out, but it sure helps to picture it … at least for a minute.
In the meantime, we’re wishing for spring, and hoping to all turn a new leaf.
