Snowboarding at Forty

It is the middle of unseasonably warm February day, and I am standing at the top of a large hill dubbed The Green Monster, wearing a helmet, sunglasses, a waterproof jacket, snow pants, gloves and clownishly large boots. Strapped to my feet is a four and a half foot long, mock-grafitti’d wood and fiberglass board, which is – in both presence and design -- a near-total anachronism for a suburban 40-year old mom. But I have decided that it is time for me to learn how to snowboard.

The Marshfield Recreation Department offers a variety of classes for adults and children alike, and paging through its brochure earlier this year, I noticed the Mountain Munchkins program for kindergarteners. The class fit perfectly into our schedule, so I asked my son Abel if he would like to try something new: a three-session course in either skiing or snowboarding. He said yes, and in late January, we began reporting to the Blue Hills Ski Area in Canton every Thursday for his 90-minute lesson.

My expectations were low. Abel has tried Music Together, Tumblefun, swim lessons, skateboard lessons, and ice skating, and while he has enjoyed all of these, I haven’t seen anything yet that approaches passion.

Until now. Of the 15 children enrolled in our timeslot, Abel was the only one who chose snowboarding, which meant that he got to have a private class! He was excited to try something new, and even more captivated as we entered the rental barn and saw the equipment. But that was nothing compared to what followed.

Abel was assigned an engaging young instructor named Alec. After explaining how to work the bindings, how to fall and get back up again, and how to “skate” with the board attached to one foot, Alec led Abel up the Magic Carpet to the top of The Green Monster, the larger of Blue Hills’ two beginner’s slopes. And before the end of the 90-minute session, my 5-year-old munchkin was gliding back and forth across the hill, practicing his “falling leaf” technique, wearing an expression of deep concentration. We knew after his second lesson that we’d be signing up for another session, and by the end of his third lesson, he was going down the hill all by himself. He loved it – and I loved watching him. (Parents are permitted to stand behind a fence at the bottom of the hill to observe.)

So if my five year old son wants to snowboard, he’s going to need someone to go with him, right? That someone will have to be me.

I’ve cross-country skied a little bit, but I’ve hit the downhill slopes a total of twice in my life, and the most recent occasion was 25 years ago. Let’s just say I was a little daunted by this snowboarding thing. But I’m in decent physical shape -- how bad could it be?

Friends offered all sorts of “encouraging” comments. “Try not to tear your ACL . . . or break your wrists.” “Your rear end is gonna be sore!” “Mind if I come and watch . . . and laugh?” But I was up for the challenge. So before I could chicken out, I signed up – and paid for – my own private lesson. I opted for a weekday class, when the traffic on the mountain would be light, and I‘d be less likely to cause a collision.

My instructor, James, showed me the same basic techniques that Abel had learned, and very encouragingly told me I was doing well, even when I felt like a total dork. So we too boarded the Magic Carpet and headed up to the top of the hill.

First James taught me how to get the board moving, and walked backwards in front of me, holding my hands, while I tentatively shuffled downhill. Halfway down, he let go and I managed to maintain my balance and get to the bottom.

Thus James concluded that I was ready for the next step, the falling leaf. He explained it to me, demonstrated what I was to do next, and then there I was, very cautiously working the board from side to side down the slope, trying to get a feel for “exactly how this darn thing works.” This involved some falling, plenty of grimacing, and some comical attempts of getting back onto my feet, but overall, I was surprised that I didn’t make a total buffoon of myself.

We went up and down the hill five or six times during my lesson, and each time I had a somewhat better sense of what to do. The casual observer would report seeing flashes of terror across my face every now and then, but I’m intrigued – and challenged – enough that I want to go back and try some more. Friends have assured me that it will take a few lessons before I actually get the hang of it.

Winter isn’t over yet, and even in this super-mild version of winter that we’re experiencing this year, Blue Hills makes it own snow, and remains open for business as far into the season as the weather permits. Individuals and groups of all ages can sign up for lessons for both skiing and snowboarding. I’ve found the staff to be skilled, engaging, and fun.

More experienced skiers and snowboarders can check out the property’s 60 acres of slopes, including 12 trails and a terrain park, plus a double chair lift, two conveyor belt-type lifts and a handle tow. Blue Hills is open most nights ‘til 9, and half of the ski area has night lighting. There is a lodge with a snack bar, and a well-stocked rental barn. It’s a great place to learn something new, polish your skills, or just satisfy an itch for snow sports, especially if you don’t have time to make the trip to the larger mountains up north. I wish I had discovered this place 30 years ago!

The Blue Hills Ski Area is located at 4001 Washington Street in Canton, MA, just minutes from Route 93. It is owned by the state Department of Conservation & Recreation (DCR) and is currently managed by company that specializes in small ski resorts. Organized skiing on Great Blue Hill has been going on since at least the 1930s, when the Civilian Conservation Corps cut the first two trails there. In 1949 the Metropolitan District Commission added rope tows and some additional trails, and chair lifts were built in the 1960s. The area has been revitalized in the past decade and is an inviting place for individuals and families. Learn more at http://ski-bluehills.com.

by Kezia Bacon, Correspondent
February 2012

Kezia Bacon's articles appear courtesy of the North and South Rivers Watershed Association, a local non-profit organization devoted to the preservation, restoration, maintenance and conservation of the North and South Rivers and their watershed. For membership information and a copy of their latest newsletter, contact NSRWA at (781) 659-8168 or visit www.nsrwa.org. To browse 15 years of Nature (Human and Otherwise) columns, visit http://keziabaconbernstein.blogspot.com

Walking The Labyrinth

Before my son was born five years ago, I used to attend semi-annual yoga retreats at Kripalu in Stockbridge, Massachusetts. While there, I would take classes to help me develop my skills as a yoga and meditation teacher. But just as importantly, the retreats helped me to take a break from the hustle and bustle of daily life. I didn’t have to cook, or clean, or take care of anyone but myself, and I reveled in the relative peace and solitude.

Once my son arrived, yoga retreats were the farthest thing from my mind. I had a baby to take care of, and then a toddler, and then a preschooler. I might find small pockets of time for myself, but never a whole week or weekend.

At Kripalu, one of my favorite activities was walking the labyrinth. Dating back 4,000 years and present in cultures around the globe, the labyrinths presents an ideal opportunity for meditation. Circular in shape, it is in essence just a walking path. But its intricate design – a series of precisely rounded corners that fold in upon themselves – lends a certain meaning or power.

Labyrinths may be constructed of any material. Some are situated indoors -- like the one comprised of blue and white stone inside Chartres Cathedral in France – and some are laid out in a more natural setting. There are even portable labyrinths, printed on canvas. At Kripalu, the labyrinth stands on a grassy hill, its path outlined with stones.

To walk the labyrinth as a meditation, when you first step onto the path, you might ask a question or set an intention for yourself. Then with each step, you continue to ponder that question. Maintaining focus is not easy, but setting a very slow walking pace helps a lot. When you reach the center, you might pause to reflect, and then you continue on, retracing your steps all the way out.

If nothing else, walking the labyrinth offers quiet time for reflection. But it’s been my experience that it tends to evoke insights and inspiration. Often the question I ask going in is answered soon after. Maybe not while I’m in the labyrinth itself, but within a few hours or days. I find it a helpful exercise when I need to change my perspective or sharpen my focus on a particular thing.

Shortly after my son was born, I learned about the labyrinth at Miramar Retreat Center in Duxbury. I wrote a note to myself, pinned it to my office bulletin board, but never actually managed to get there. I forgot about it, more or less, although the note remained plainly visible, its salmon-colored paper fading over time.

Last year was tumultuous for my family. My husband and I split up, and my son and I moved across town to live with my parents (he goes to his dad the second half of each week). With shared custody, all of a sudden I had a little bit of time to myself. As 2011 drew to a close, I felt like I needed to reflect on the past year and figure out my priorities for 2012. A yoga retreat was an option, but I wondered if I might find the same benefits closer to home. Then I remembered the labyrinth.

So on the last day of the year, I headed over to Miramar. Do you know about this place? Built by the Loring family in 1876, Miramar – three buildings on 27 acres overlooking Kingston Bay -- became the summer home of William Cardinal O’Connell of Boston in the early 1900s. In 1922 it was converted into a seminary for the (Catholic) Society of the Divine Word. Over time, additional facilities were constructed – a chapel, a school, a gym, even grottoes, and 37 adjacent acres were purchased. Miramar flourished as a minor seminary and eventually gained accreditation as a two-year college liberal arts program. Due to changes within the church, the school itself closed its doors in the 1960s, but Miramar lives on to this day as a retreat center.

When I inquired, five years ago, a staff member explained to me how to find the labyrinth. She said to drive all the way into the parking lot, and then look for the walkway near the gift shop. But instead of going toward the shop, she instructed me to take a right and walk across the grass, down a slight incline. The labyrinth would be visible at that point.

And indeed it was. I found a small garden, and beyond it, a flat grassy area with a six-foot tall crucifix at its farthest point. The labyrinth was set out on a circle of reddish wood chips; its paths lined with simple gray bricks.

Stepping into the labyrinth, I set my intention: to ponder what changes I wanted to make in my life, and what goals I wanted to achieve, in 2012. I repeated the question to myself a few times as I began to walk, very slowly, through the labyrinth. I walked, and I walked, each step soft yet deliberate.

There was a stone bench at the center. When I reached it, I opted not to sit down (it was chilly out), but instead turned toward the water. It was too gray a day to enjoy the view, so I just stood there in the breeze for a few minutes, breathing the ocean air. Heading back, I began to answer my own question, listing things I could do, or change, to help attain my goals for the coming year. By the time I’d completed my walk, I felt better – more in-charge and focused for the year to come.

Do labyrinths have mystical or magic powers? Some say yes; some say no. For me, they present an opportunity to pause and reflect, and a structure in which to do so. For those of us who think more clearly when we’re moving (as opposed to sitting still), labyrinths are ideal settings for meditation.

After returning from Miramar, I spent some time on its website (miramarretreat.org), hoping to learn more about the facility and its history. What struck me most was the stated mission of the Society of the Divine Word.

To set the captives free
To give sight to the blind
To heal the broken-hearted
To proclaim a year of favor from the Lord

Wasn’t that exactly (in my own way) what I was asking as I walked the labyrinth that day?

Visitor Information: Miramar Retreat Center, 121 Parks Street, Duxbury. 781-585-2460. miramarma@aol.com

by Kezia Bacon, Correspondent
January 2012

Kezia Bacon's articles appear courtesy of the North and South Rivers Watershed Association, a local non-profit organization devoted to the preservation, restoration, maintenance and conservation of the North and South Rivers and their watershed. For membership information and a copy of their latest newsletter, contact NSRWA at (781) 659-8168 or visit www.nsrwa.org. To browse 15 years of Nature (Human and Otherwise) columns, visit http://keziabaconbernstein.blogspot.com