First Lesson

Somewhere, in some photo album back in Virginia, my mother has a picture of either my brother or me on these very same cross-country skis . Family legends were born out of our annual trips to New Germany State Park in Maryland. At some point over the years, we took most of our family's best friends along. The Vaughters. The Knights. The Grosses. Sarah Quainton. We always stayed at the Casselman Inn and — ooohmyGawd — the bread. The bread! I can still recall its sweet yeasty goodness. I also remember the time Joshua Gross ordered cow brains off the menu. Sweetbreads. Who wouldn't want that. Bletch. There was the time my brother got lost in a snow drift after rolling off a sled (remember when it used to snow back east?) Then there was the time he split his head open on a door jam and gushed blood all over everybody for about an entire day. And, there was me and Molly Knight bombing or way down 'Devil's Run.' This narrow, winding, forested trail plummeted down a mountainside, dropping at its terminus into a highway of skier traffic, requiring an airborne, 90-degree left turn at the finish and careful avoidance of beginner skiers. All this occurred on skis two times longer than our bodies. Those trips were all about hot chocolate and trail mix and cold fingers, and despite my parents' grumblings over our move to the mountains, they can lay full claim to instilling in me a love of the Great Outdoors. Between those annual cross-country ski trips, our white water canoe and rafting trips and weekend hiking and camping adventures, I was hooked. Maybe we only did those trips because my family was on a budget and we couldn't afford the annual Vail ski vacation, but I don't regret it, not now. Back then, sure, I was looking for every thrill possible, and cross-country skis seemed kinds geeky. It was the 80s. I wanted nothing more than to be a ski bunny in neon, with a headband holding up my big bangs. Problem was, I didn't know how cool I was. Now I'm a Free-Heeler, which is cooler than skiing and snowboarding combined. Ask anybody. Tomorrow, Sawyer goes out for his first ski, and he's going to be initiated the same way I was: Heels free. Poles tall. And, skis far too long for his body.

(If you want to see the video of Sawyer trying out his skis at home for the first time, you have to go to Facebook. Couldn't get it to load here for some reason.)