SnowBunnies

We grew up skiing. It was the family winter weekend activity of choice. My father would pack us in the wagon with a thermos full of oxtail soup and sandwiches wrapped in foil. Saturday and Sunday mornings the family cart would exit the driveway at 5:47am. No flexibility there - always trying to instill in us a life lesson, Dad would depart at the appointed time. Chasing down an icy driveway in unlaced ski boots - a perfect morning exercise drill.

One of my favorite parts of this experience was Sunday morning mass. We would clomp up the aisle in our gear, including ski boots and escape after communion. Hopeful for a quick sermon, we would count the minutes. The longer winded epistles meant the lifts would open without us. Tragedy in my father's book since he wasn't getting his money's worth.

Off we would drive to The Berkshires. To those unfamiliar with these eastern Alps, a good visual would be dousing your neighborhood hill with ice and placing a T-Bar to the top. Okay, the T-bar was for the advanced skiers, the beginners had a rope tow. Made no sense to me. The tow was designed to pull your shoulders from their sockets while you skidded on along the ground trying to untangle your skis from the rope. Anyone silly enough to return to the slopes a second day after experiencing this lurch forward was a bonafide aficionado.

The T-Bar and Chair Lifts provided my father the opportunity to determine happenings. Captive until the top of the hill, he utilized his best litigation techniques to determine the state of your union. A master of communication, he gained a wealth of information from our adolescent lips. Frostbite is a wonderful incentive to spill your guts.

Eastern skiing is not like the movies. No lovely tracks through the powder while the sun lovingly warms your face. Sharp edges were essential to slice through the ice while wearing masks to protect the extremities from the 20mph winds whipping ice pellets through the air. We skied all day, through the lunch hour (more runs while people ate. Never mind that you were ready to eat your glove). Finally, at 2pm we stopped, wolfed down the packed lunches and trundled to the car.

I wouldn't trade those memories for anything. They are among my best. I loved skiing with my father. Today one of my favorite places on earth is Vail, Colorado. I love the blue sky and white snow. I love moving down the mountain with a gaggle of friends. I love the sense of being with nature and the freedom it gives me.

All this due to the 5:47am sprint down the driveway.