We have been waiting all winter for the confluence of cold and snow that we might hike down the LaPlatte River. Today, one day, they come together. My friend Ali and I pull sleds of children across wet, sticky snow. “How far should we go?” she asks. “Until we have to turn around,” I reply. After some time, wet overcomes snow and heat overcomes cold. My snowshoe breaks through the ice of the river. “It is time to turn around,” I say, gazing at the wet hot cold ice water snow river snaking on before me. I pull my leg out of the river. This is as far as we make it this year. The river has not been frozen enough to travel to the bay since the year Iris was two.