Wild Wild West
This morning, my parents suggested that we go cross-country skiing, and since this is a physical activity that I actually enjoy, and since it involved family bonding, as well as the opportunity to hear my dad say "We're the skiing family!", I decided to give it a shot.
A couple hours later, I'd rented equiptment, we'd picked up my aunt, and we were at the trail head, only to discover that a bitter, howling wind was also at the trail head, and that it was blowing ice crystals down our collars. Nevertheless, we pulled on our mittens, snapped on our skies, and set off.
The wind died down soon enough, and I started to get the hang of skiing again, and didn't fall once! After I got comfortable enough to stop watching my feet move and look around, I saw some incredible sights.
Dad. The wind down where we were wasn't quite as bad as the wind at the peaks. Still, pretty brisk.
Me, a bit further on.
Mom, cruising up a pretty steep hill.
Then we went to The Kneadery, a local restaurant which we love for its huge portions, really good food, and free brownies and cookies at the door. In recent years, I have become so used to living in the west that the decor of The Kneadery doesn't really phase me. (I remember once, when passing through Jackson Hole, Wyoming, I had to ask my mom if it was strange that we were eating across the street from an archway made out of elk antlers. She told me that it was. I had been out of New England for too long.) Now, returning from the UK, everything western is entertaining to me, especially the huge moose head over one of the tables, and the stuffed grizzly (with a candy cane in its mouth for the season) presiding over a wooden cowboy and table of free desserts.
Pretending to be casual, rather than highly entertained.
We drove home at about 2:30, and passed a small, Cindy-Lou Who-ish child standing on top of an enormous snow bank while her older brother took swipes at her with a ski pole. Ah, Idaho. How I have missed you!
A couple hours later, I'd rented equiptment, we'd picked up my aunt, and we were at the trail head, only to discover that a bitter, howling wind was also at the trail head, and that it was blowing ice crystals down our collars. Nevertheless, we pulled on our mittens, snapped on our skies, and set off.
The wind died down soon enough, and I started to get the hang of skiing again, and didn't fall once! After I got comfortable enough to stop watching my feet move and look around, I saw some incredible sights.
Dad. The wind down where we were wasn't quite as bad as the wind at the peaks. Still, pretty brisk.
Me, a bit further on.
Mom, cruising up a pretty steep hill.
Then we went to The Kneadery, a local restaurant which we love for its huge portions, really good food, and free brownies and cookies at the door. In recent years, I have become so used to living in the west that the decor of The Kneadery doesn't really phase me. (I remember once, when passing through Jackson Hole, Wyoming, I had to ask my mom if it was strange that we were eating across the street from an archway made out of elk antlers. She told me that it was. I had been out of New England for too long.) Now, returning from the UK, everything western is entertaining to me, especially the huge moose head over one of the tables, and the stuffed grizzly (with a candy cane in its mouth for the season) presiding over a wooden cowboy and table of free desserts.
Pretending to be casual, rather than highly entertained.
We drove home at about 2:30, and passed a small, Cindy-Lou Who-ish child standing on top of an enormous snow bank while her older brother took swipes at her with a ski pole. Ah, Idaho. How I have missed you!