I loved snow days as a kid. Growing up in the 1980s outside of Washington, D.C. in suburban Maryland, there were still neighborhoods which abutted tracts of forest with steep inclines. My friends and I would carve out dangerous, circuitous trails around turns and trees to spend hours sledding, inevitably leading to the construction of a ramp to jump over a narrow creek. Many of us came into a warm home soaked to the skin to attenuate our frozen bodies with hot cocoa.
Going out in the snow was fun. My friends and I, fueled by Soviet mistrust in Reagan’s America, would take to the forests for BB gun wars. These were dangerous, to be sure, and made more so in the wake of personally favorite screenwriter John Milius’s Red Dawn whereby we facilitated RPGs by shoulder-firing bottle rockets out of whiffle ball bats. I’m surprised no one was seriously hurt. We at least wore eye protection.
That same group of friends and I were in Boy Scouts together, our Scoutmaster a Korean War veteran whose gruff demeanor belied a massive heart. Wes Bodin taught us city kids a lot about being outdoors and that life could be an adventure at any time and place. I carry that with me today
A favorite outing was a winter camping trip in Western Virginia. With little money as kids, unknown to us these forays were often footed by Bodin and our assistant Scoutmaster. I discovered that later as an adult and am indebted to their generosity. I found the excursions exhilarating.
I remember waking up and emerging from my tent to fresh powder on already fallen piles of snow and the joy of hiking and exploring the woods. It didn’t dawn on us until later that we’d spend the night in the cold and would have to deal with that since Mr. Bodin wasn’t taking us home.
He taught us to keep dry clothes and change your socks. With a fire and some laughter, you could get through anything. Our confidence soared as we further entreated our wilderness survival fantasies against the backstop of returning by 2 on Sunday afternoon ahead of school the next week.
I learned perseverance and leadership during that time. Not every young man in the Troop liked the snow, fewer still reveled in it, but we all had to make it through the weekend. We did it as a team, embracing those who went inward in hopes the ordeal would just end. It eventually did, like most things, and it wasn’t uncommon for a boy or two to stop attending the winter campouts. Wes Bodin helped me build mental endurance and self-sufficiency. I owe him for that, and I remember the pride on his face when I achieved my Eagle Scout rank.
Years removed from my youthful exuberance and ignorance; I sit writing on a snowy day and reflect on those times balanced against more dire ones spent in the snow. Of long night patrols wearing 85 pounds of lightweight equipment, trudging through the drifts to raid a compound while encouraging fellow members to continue. I can overlay the faces of the young friends of my youth not wanting to go for a hike or do anything outside of sitting miserably by the fire. On those raids, there was no going back, either; gunfire could occur at any moment.
Upon extraction, as the adrenaline wore off, I can still feel the freezing wind whipping through the open doors of a Blackhawk helicopter at night. Of seeing snow on distant mountaintops, wondering what it would be like to ski them (I took up skiing later in my life—that’s for another time). On those flights, I huddled in my long, insulated overcoat like those worn on football sidelines and burrowed down to find some warmth.
I think of the peace I’ve earned, and the lives lost during wintertime. My mind frames the personal effects of a dead Ranger Staff Sergeant, killed in the snowy mountains of Eastern Afghanistan, the kit bag containing his riddled body armor and helmet stained with blood which seeped into the snowy ground when his comrades set it down outside of the command post in which I worked. I couldn’t bring myself to shovel it away and it remained a macabre reminder of a life lost until another snowfall erased it.
In the present, the sun rises this morning over a blanket of fresh snow, the air crisp. I admire the stillness outside, the top layer of snow disturbed only by an unseen rabbit’s tracks. I sip my coffee and wonder if I’d have been the leader I am, become the person I am, without Wes Bodin and time spent with friends in the icy woods. That those experiences laid the groundwork for a life spent doing dangerous, exciting things which came at cost.
Out the window, a group of kids trudge by dragging sleds behind them to take advantage of the snow and cold weather. I smile hearing their laughter and remember how much fun it was to be that age.
Snow, like everything in life, is fleeting.
Enjoy it while you can and don’t take it for granted.
Welcome to The Logbook, a place to read, examine, and ponder my observations on leadership, life and other topics. Through my writing, I want people to explore their own experiences and perhaps achieve commonality.
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