How Minnesota helped me find the magic of winter

“You have a lot of coats on,” says Anthony Taylor, founder of Melanin in Motion, an organization that encourages Black and Brown people to get outdoors. He gives me a once-over before turning to my travel partner with the same look. He seems both impressed and incredulous, but mostly concerned. “I mean, y’all are really overdressed for skiing,” he says.

I should be insulted. While my colleague Sarah is a Miami-based, new-to-the-cold type—who thinks northern winters mean waking up each morning in a giant snow globe where everyone drinks hot cocoa and makes snow angels—I’m Canadian. I know how to avoid winter chill, and this man has a lot of nerve telling me otherwise. Still, I am feeling a tad warm.  

We’re in Theodore Wirth Regional Park, a 740-acre public park just west of downtown Minneapolis, learning to cross-country ski. We’ve dressed for winter: Boots with two pairs of socks, snow pants over long johns, three layers up top, a thick parka from Minnesota coat company Askov Finlayson, and some cozy headgear. 

But winter has forgotten to do its part. It’s a balmy 30 degrees Fahrenheit, so the snow we’ll be skiing on is man-made. That’s a problem. 

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For 20 years, the Loppet Foundation, a private nonprofit, has been encouraging locals to embrace Minnesota’s famously harsh winters. But this year, programs that depend on snow and ice are being replaced with guided hikes, birding walks, and story times with a naturalist, executive director Claire Wilson tells me. The Trailhead, the usually packed activity center for the park that I’m standing (and sweating) in, is almost empty. 

An added reason for concern? In February, the Stifel Loppet Cup—the first cross-country world cup to be held in the United States in two decades—is scheduled for the hills behind us. Athletes from 25 nations will compete in distance and sprint races. But the weather the event requires is iffy at best. Conditions haven’t even been cold enough to make much snow. “There is a deep grief, I think, in this community right now around the loss of winter,” says Wilson. 

Initially, I couldn’t imagine anyone grieving the lack of cold, but by the time I leave Minneapolis, the possibility becomes far more plausible. 

Winter blues

Taylor takes the lack of snow in stride as he preps Sarah and me for our lessons. We’ve been refitted in lightweight, wind-resistant jackets, ski booties, and balaclava-styled neck warmers. I now see Taylor’s point about streamlined clothing and tell him so. He smiles. 

“Really, what I’m trying to do is help people to develop a new relationship with winter,” he says. “If not, you’re giving up life for 120 days.”

Afterward, I head to south Minneapolis to meet John Pederson, director of customer engagement for Superior Sauna & Steam, where in the company’s showroom a half dozen saunas sit in a semicircle around a couple of firepits in the courtyard. The setup is a miniature version of what will be erected for the Great Northern Festival at The Market at Malcolm Yards. This annual celebration of all things winter (January 25 to February 4) features art installations, food experiences, panels, and lectures.

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Pederson, who trademarked the term “thermaculture,” was initially inspired by hot bathing rituals such as Turkish hammams, Japanese onsen, Native American sweat lodges, and Mexican temazcal. At heart, these traditions aim to train bodies to manage extreme stress, he says—a lesson he felt Minneapolitans could use inside and out of the sauna.

“It’s functional medicine,” Pederson tells me, as I sit sweating inside a 190-degree Fahrenheit cedar box. At the festival, guests can sign up for 60-90 minute steam sessions in several kinds of traditional wood-fired saunas. Other wellness experiences on offer include sound baths, aromatherapy, or aufguss—a multi-sensory wellness ritual from Germany.

Keeping the north cold

Jovan Speller-Rebollar, executive director of this year’s Great Northern Festival, wasn’t always pro-winter. The Los Angeles-born, multidisciplinary artist claims ambivalence about the season before moving to Minneapolis. She quickly realized that she’d have to adapt to survive. “It really is about learning to get acclimated with your locale. You have to become attuned to it and become able to work in harmony with it,” says Speller-Rebollar. 

If the unseasonably warm weather continues, this year’s conversations about climate change at the festival will feel particularly timely. “We’re trying to inspire people to care enough to change their actions, behaviors, and lifestyles to make a positive impact on climate,” she says.

Back at the Trailhead, Taylor is teaching me how to get my skis to glide across the snow, and it’s working. I’m upright, more comfortable, and increasingly confident. When we’re done, I text my husband, excited about finally finding a sport that might get me outside between November and May. 

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As I wait for my next adventure—fat tire biking through the park— I mention my positive experience to Wilson. She isn’t surprised that my time outside has positively impacted my mood.

“There’s magic in the winter,” she says. “We should probably embrace it, before we lose it completely.”