Hill Slug Chronicles: Walking in Snowstorms

Turtleback Park, Lawrence Townsip

18 January 2026

I had my first Reclast infusion on Friday morning.

(record scratch)

Yeah, so, it turns out that when you starve yourself as a teenager and everyone on your father's side of the family ends up looking like a candy cane, it really doesn't matter how much of an exercise addict you are, because your DEXA scan is going to flip over to osteoporosis early.

I was loaded up on acetaminophen because some folks have flu-like symptoms after their infusions. I did feel a bit loopy in the afternoon, but by the time I went to pick up Kermit from his spa day at Hart's, I was feeling fine.

Until I got home, went to the back of the car in the dark, leaned in as I opened the hatch to take the bike out, and scraped my head on the hatch hook. "That's gonna leave a mark," I thought, and pulled Kermit out. That's when I felt the first drop on my face. By the time I got inside, there was blood on my coat, on my glove, and on my glasses. I'd gashed my forehead good, an inch-long gaping wound near my hairline.

I cleaned it up, put pressure on it, covered it with a band-aid, and went about my usual routine. Jack and I went food shopping, had dinner, and watched some TV. I got a shower, taking care to keep the cut dry, and changed into my pajamas. I checked the cut a few times. It was still bleeding.

I don't know if this happens to you guys, but if there's something wrong with my body at bedtime, I'll fixate on it all night. "It's just a cut," I told myself. But my heart was racing.

At 10:00, Jack and I were in the car on the way to the Penn Medicine ER in Plainsboro. I brought a backpack with 2 books, water, and my phone charger in it. I figured we'd be in for a long night. I worried that not sleeping would be the worst thing to do on infusion day. As we sat in the waiting area in chairs that did not allow for any sort of sleeping position, I kept telling Jack, "This is stupid. We should go home."

"We're here," he kept saying. "You have to go through with it."

"Take an Uber home then."

"No!"

"If they don't see me by 1:00 I'm going home." It was nearing midnight. I was cold. I buttoned my thick sweater, put on my coat, and positioned my backpack against the window for a makeshift pillow. I leaned back to try to sleep.

A voice in the distance called my name. We were led into a long hallway with reclining chairs. I got in the one they sent me to and reclined. Jack sat in a straight-backed chair at my feet. "Just so you know," he said, tapping his watch, "When you said 1:00? It's 12:59." I closed my eyes and maybe fell asleep.

A nurse practitioner came by eventually, and by 1:30 my head was glued back together. At 2:00 we were discharged. By 2:35, we were in bed.

Despite my best efforts to get at least 7 hours of sleep, I woke up at 8:30, looking and feeling like a zombie. The glue on my forehead was purple. Like grape candy purple. I covered it with a band-aid to keep myself from inadvertently brushing against it.

There was snow in the forecast for this Saturday morning. I'd been told not to shower "until tonight," and we had plans for dinner in Philadelphia in the evening. So a sweaty workout was not in the cards. I could lift weights though, so I did.

The snow was light at first, just a dusting. There were sparrows and juncos and the occasional downy woodpecker at the feeders.

While I was mucking about with the TRX bands, the snow started coming down in earnest.

I really wanted to go outside and walk in it.

So I did.

There's a small patch of woods along the Little Shabakunk Creek around the corner from my house. It's called Turtleback Park. There's a bronze turtle at the entrance.

The snow was wet and heavy, and squeaked under my boots.

The path leads to a power line right-of-way. In the middle is the creek, with a little bridge over it.

I went past the power line and into the woods on the other side, following someone else's tracks in the snow.

The path ends abruptly, and the footprints turned around. I did too. A pair of mallards swam past, the male with a dollop of snow on his back.

I guess "like water off a duck" does not apply to snow.

I walked uphill at the power line to reach Princeton Pike, which was a slushy mess.

When I got back home, I trudged through the yard to take pictures of snow on the branches and on the saints.

Saint Orbitus

Saint Miscellaneous

Saint Polychromatous

rear gears

Saint Vitreous

Saint Cullet

When the snow stopped, I shoveled. It was only a few inches and easy to push out of the way. The street wasn't plowed.

Later, we got a FedEx delivery. "How are the roads," I asked the driver. He shook his head. "Stay home."

We bailed on our night in Philly. Now that I didn't have to stay clean, I could do a sweaty workout after all. By this point, I was feeling loopy again, whether from the infusion or lack of sleep or both. I kept the sweat session short. I finished at 7:00, officially night, so I showered.

As I was drying off, I got too close to the purple line with the towel. One more inch and I'd've had to go back for more glue. I covered the line with a band-aid.

Meanwhile, another winter weather advisory had been issued, with a second storm coming our way between 6:00 AM and 8:00 PM.

There were two things going on at once on Sunday: my friend's 70th birthday party, during which she was planning to do a piano performance; and an afternoon hike starting from Rosedale Park. My friend knows that classical music performances bore the piss out of me, so she gave me permission to show up after the recital. Jack, being a musician, would Uber over while I stomped around in the woods.

Then Low Key texted me. She'd reserved a bench at East Falls for herself and Iron Maiden for Sunday between 10:00 and 2:00. Iron Maiden, living way the hell out in Perkasie, wisely bailed because of the impending storm. Low Key tried to cancel, but now it was less than 24 hours before her bench time, and R told her rules is rules. So Low Key asked me if I wanted to fill in. She lives in East Windsor. "Be at my house at 8:30," I told her, and canceled my hike registration. We agreed that if the snow were bad in the morning, we'd ditch the hour-long drive and she'd have to forfeit the bench fee.

Exhausted, I prepped food and water for the glassblowing session and tried to get enough sleep.

I woke up at 6:00 and wandered over to a front window. There was no snow yet. I went back to sleep until my alarm went off at 7:00. I went to the window again. It was snowing. I texted Low Key and suggested we cancel. She got in touch with the studio by 7:30. R had a change of heart and, because it was weather-related, relented on charging Low Key for the bench.

I went back to bed but I was already too awake. Next came texts from my birthday friend. "Can you make tomorrow instead?" Tomorrow is MLK Day, so yes. She asked all of her invitees, rearranged the food pickup, and let us all know her party would be on Monday.

So next, I emailed Dorothy to find out if her hike was still going to happen. I had been checking the PFW calendar, and the hike was still on. I told her I was thinking of signing up again if the hike was a go. She wrote back that she figured the roads would be driven on by 1:00 and she wasn't canceling.

I texted Heddy and convinced her to go too.

But before that, I'd have to dig out. There was a lull in the storm. The snow wasn't as deep as yesterday, but it was wetter.

Around noon, the storm picked up again. The roads were merely wet though. There was a good showing at Rosedale Park.

I brought the Canon PowerShot with me so that I could take pictures with my gloves on.

It really was this dark out. I decided not to try to adjust any of the pictures I took. The gloomth was real.

We started the hike on a berm. To our left were hordes of kids on plastic sleds. To our right was Rosedale Lake, with two anantomically correct snowmen at the bottom of the hill.

It was snowing the whole time.

I'm terrible at orienting myself in this park complex. Rosedale Park is only a piece of it. Below that is Mercer Meadows, which was called the Pole Farm back in the day. There are old dirt roads and small trails that criscross the parks. The Lawrence-Hopewell trail cuts through too.

Dorothy knew where to turn; we made lots of turns. We went from Rosedale to Mercer Meadows.

We found the remaining pole, off in the distance.

Then we looped north again to get back to Rosedale.

The berm was now worn smooth from all the sleds being dragged over it. At the bottom of the hill, a group of kids were rolling a giant snowball.

We finished the 6-mile hike around 3:30. The snow was coming down faster now. It was sticking to the streets. After I put the car in the garage, I shoveled again because I figured the tire tracks and my footprints would turn to ice and be difficult to remove in the morning.