It must suck to live somewhere puddle jumping and ice skating are the same thing.
~Kristina at a Minnesota rest stop
As a child, Kristina was the original puddle jumper. Every year we bought a new pair of waterproof boots, in a bright and cheery colour – puddle jumpers. We didn’t ever call them anything else.
That’s what they were FOR.
Hiking trails through the park, strolling along an older, rutted road, or following the seaweed-marked tideline at the beach, Kristina found every opportunity to splash the rain from its tiny reservoirs.
In no time (and after several grumpy Mama-mutters), she learned to do a shoulder-check for bystanders. Then she’d let loose with a delighted chirp and full-body pounce – followed by a proud grin as the puddle descended back to earth around her.
She never minded the wet. But she doesn’t like to be cold. And she loathes wind. (Which made South Dakota in January kind of a drag.)
When we got to Minnesota, the sun came out, and we were able to get our bearings. We looked around and decided we liked it. For a visit.
Minnesota was pretty, but still damn cold. Not a puddle in sight.