Her First Ski Home

Cold stings my cheeks. Rime dangles from my eyebrows. Even my five-year-old daughter’s little blue eyes look frigid, peering down at me from the narrow gap between her knit hat and frosty gaiter. I’m on my knees in the snow, wrestling her ski out from under a log, and she just asked when we’re going to be home. I don’t know, I think, but it needs to be soon. We are alone in a snowbound valley amid a population of winter-weary moose, and the sun is sinking behind mountains. The temperature is six below zero and dropping.

As I check Stella’s rosy cheeks for frostbite, my inner dad frowns. These are harsh conditions for a little kid, he says. Suddenly, the reasoning for this mission feels as brittle as the hoarfrost atop today’s snow. I’d just wanted to show my daughter we can ski home from her preschool, through forests and meadows and down a frozen river. But I also admit