There is something truly enchanting about the transformation of a space in winter. Growing up in Florida, I know that this is not a ubiquitous experience of the physical world, and I’m grateful for the break in the routine.
As I long for shades of green and warm humid air, I am quieted by the weighted blanket that starts at my back door and lays on top of the world, knowing no difference between land use or property type. The snow transforms vast rolling hills and dense woods alike. It does its best to insulate the thoroughfares in our landscape, those of water, earth, or manufactured material, but constant movement, as slow as it may be, eventually works its way through to open air, sun, and moon.
Motion requires space, and that is something that the Twin Cities have in abundance in the depths of winter. Though these spaces are woven into our urban fabric year-round, something happens when the snow falls and sticks around. Private and public start to blur, and the Town and Country Club (TCC) is a perfect example of this. While many other golf courses in the twin cities open themselves to sledders, nordic skiers, snowshoers, and winter explorers on two legs or four, they do so in a more prescribed manner. TCC, however, opens itself passively to a more freeform experience of winter movement; all one needs to do is get there and walk through one of the few partially open gates. On the other side, open fields, rolling hills, creeks, and patches of forest await new tracks.
What I find most delightful in this space is the absence of litigation-centric regulation. A golf course, something that is rooted in monetary transaction for use, becomes a blank canvas for the marks of movement, storm after storm. The neighborhood feels all the better for having such an oasis. It is interesting to think about the true flexibility of our rigid systems showing through the snow, and what other introduced circumstances might change how we see and use space.
-Will