The snow is here. Smiley Face.
Starting in August (no joke — I have a friend’s Facebook post to prove it), people around here anxiously await the arrival of snow, crossing all of their fingers and toes for huge quantities of the fluffy, white stuff. They love it so much, they give it cute nicknames like POW POW and gnar gnar. Champagne powder. White gold.
Growing up in the mid-west, I hated winter. It equated with a grey, damp cold, the sun hiding behind thick blankets of clouds for weeks on-end. Every so often, I had to chisel through inches-thick ice to get into my car. Yuck. I was not a skier. I was not a snowmobiler. There was nothing to redeem the downer of all seasons. In college, my roommates and I escaped the nasty weather and went to Florida for spring break. Even though it was 60 and cloudy, we stripped down to our suits, our white skin blinding the coat-wearing retirees walking the beach.
Upon moving to Colorado, I found that winter could be something other than horrible. For one thing, the sun shines more in the month of January here than it does the entire year in Michigan. Even if it snows for a couple of days, warm rays break out afterward and make the whole white wonderland sparkle. Once exposed to skiing and snowshoeing, winter took on a whole new meaning. I started to like it. I may still have some preference for summer, but a blue sky day skiing powder is definitely up there on my list of the best ways to spend a day.
And so, our warm and dry Autumn this year was a little concerning. As road bikers gleefully pedaled along Highway 6, I heard myself saying some surprising things like, “Boy, when are we going to get a good storm?” And then the cold came. Ridiculous, nasty, January-worthy, single-digit, brrrr. That cold was not welcome. Not the sort of storm I had in mind. And then the snow came. And it came in feet. Just in time for Vail’s opening weekend.
Sunday was a rare day off from race training for my son, and we headed out for some quality family time on the slopes. Riding up the chairlift between my two guys, the snowflakes fell thick and heavy and plentiful. Heading down the hill, the Kid ducked into the trees and as my hubby and I found our ski legs again, a grin spread across my buff-bundled face.
The snow is here!