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Show k ,pi SeaD)im Remembering the joys of winter It all comes back so quickly, doesn't it the familiar sight of an endless white horizon, steamy breath and the feel of heavy boots and jackets. And the sound of a snowplow scraping down the highway seems like it never . really left our early morning subconscious. Welcome back, Old Man Winter. When it started blowing and snowing last Wednesday I could feel the town dividing up into two distinct camps. There were those who refused to acknowledge the growing snowbanks on Main Street, who were certain it would blow over and our Indian summer would return. They tromped through the slush in sneakers, pulled their sweater collars up over their ears and refused to even consider digging out their snow tires. By Thursday their outlooks were considerably more conservative. They were still willing to bet on a complete meltdown, but I noted they had given in to parkas and felt pack boots. In the other camp it was a different story. When the first flakes began to fall, its leaders squinted at the low-riding clouds hugging the summit and said, "Yep, it's going to be a big one." And while those flakes were interlocking and settling into big fluffy layer in the backcountry, there was a mad dash for skis, boots, poles, snowboards, goggles, mittens and snowshoes. And much to the consternation of the aforementioned individuals, these guys were smiling and saying, "Isn't, this great?" and "Oh boy, let's go SKIING!" Which is .just what they did. And I heard it was great. For my own part I tooK the middle road. Having last skied on June 21, I didn't see any need to rush out and start skiing again in October. But I was not foolhardy enough to ignore the inevitable signs of a long winter. I retrieved my snowscraper, parka and wool socks and tried to review some of the basic principles of winter survival. For the next five days there were plenty of opportunities for practical application. I remembered all about starting a cold engine, carrying extra layers of clothing and keeping the wood box full of dry kindling. I remembered the cold fear of driving home in a blizzard with only the reflectors on the shoulder of the road for guidance and the sense of victory on finding my driveway. And I remembered why I am addicted to the change of seasons, to the challenge, the surprises and learning how to make the most of each of them. |