Woke up to snow this morning- just the perfect amount: enough to build snowmen, throw snowballs, and to keep my skis moving. The truth is that cross country skiing ranks right up there with sailing for me (and for anyone who knows me, that's saying a lot.) But opportunities are few and far between here in Bellingham.
I was spoiled by my six winter months in Wolverine, Michigan 15 years ago. I worked at an outdoor camp there, teaching inner city Detroit kids about snowshoeing, skiing, and how to build a fire in the snow. The camp backed up on 200 acres of state forest land, and every weekend once we'd cleared the remnants of the hundred or so kids from the week, we'd put on skis and head out into the forest. The snow was fabulous, the deciduous forest bright and silent-full of birds, porcupines, even a couple of ermine who kept watch on our movements. Trees bent over with the weight of snow.
Nevertheless, this morning was the kind I dream of and Ian and I made the best of it- skiing through town to the Firehouse Cafe for a cookie-and-a-coffee date. A perfect morning.
Cooper asked for a turn, but I'm thinking we wouldn't have made it far with him in the backpack- apparently he needs his own skis. Below is a picture from his first ski trip.
No comments:
Post a Comment