So What if it Doesn’t Match?

As she approaches 90 my mom makes regular attempts to shed her possessions, but with memories attached to every item it is never easy to get through a purging session.   Most recently we were sorting through her pots and pans.  The familiar aromas of cookies and cakes baking to perfection don’t fill her kitchen very often any more so it seemed like thinning the cake pan collection could be an easy task.  Immediately I came upon a situation I often pondered but never asked about as a kid.  Four round cake pans, one 8 inch and one 9 inch that matched; and another 8 inch and 9 inch that matched.  Why not matching 8s and matching 9s?  It occurred to me that these pans became part of her kitchenware before I was born, had held the batter of every birthday cake I’d ever eaten, and must have been the first cake pans I’d poured my own creations into.  It was always just a given that regardless of which size an intended cake was to be, its two layers would never exactly match.  But why?

It turns out, when my folks got married Mom could afford two pans; and in order to have the freedom to bake different size cakes, she bought one of each size with the intention of buying a second of each size out of some future paycheck. So for a time, a two layer cake required baking one layer, then re-using the pan to bake the other layer.  A year later, with money in hand to buy two more pans, she got to the store to find that the design had slightly changed and it would be impossible to match the pans she already had.  So she reluctantly bought one each of the new style—the same sizes but ever so slightly different. 

With frugality like that, it is a wonder that we became a skiing family!  In spite of it being a relatively expensive sport—even in the 60s—every winter saw us forming family bonds on the slopes.  Buying equipment for five had its challenges so hand-me-downs and obscure brands were part of the deal.  But one year I was blown away when Christmas morning revealed a very cool pair of skis with a recognizable name—they were tiger-strip orange Volkls!  That winter, I was proud to shuffle along in the lift line where everyone could see them, but I couldn’t help but notice other skis like them were bright orange while mine were a muted version of the color.  I spent that season and the next looking for another skier wearing what I assumed was a special model of the iconic ski. 

Years later I learned that the muted color model was unique.  There was only one pair!  My parents did their Christmas shopping year round, picking up bargains wherever they could.  One summer while browsing in Herman’s World of Sporting Goods  they came upon an especially good deal—a pair of skis that were heavily discounted because they had become mismatched when the top one in a window display had faded from the sun!  The skis were just the right size for their 11 year old daughter so they brought them home and laid the brighter one on the window sill of their bedroom picture window.  With the curtains closed whenever I was around, I never saw the ski and by Christmas morning four months later the skis were identically faded!  I never knew my perfectly matched muted orange skis were an economical invention.

Mom wasn't able to toss the cake pans out last week.  From mismatched pans to mismatched skis, thank goodness my parents knew how to leverage what they had to get the essentials in life! 

Paraglide/Paraski!

Not one to follow the snow, I fight the initial signs of spring every year but then gently let skiing go as I rediscover my golf clubs, tune up my bicycle and raise the mast of my sailboat. Summer itself, and all the possible outdoor activities (that can be done with just one layer of clothing) becomes a distraction from skiing and then suddenly, fall creeps up and excitement about the new winter approaching eclipses the joys of warm weather activities.

This year, maybe due to global warming, summer is not leaving easily. An October weekend that other years could have been a leaf-peeping excursion to ski country became instead a bike trip to Block Island via the Point Judith Ferry from the Rhode Island mainland.

Car traffic on the main road out of town was minimal which meant that bicycles and scooters could travel safely in spite of the fact that there is no bike path out to Southeast Lighthouse. The brick beacon stood beautifully against the blue sky but the real delight was waiting just beyond at Mohegan Bluffs. A sight that brought skiing to mind on a summery day!

Paragliders were soaring, dipping and rising just off the cliffs and above the rocky waters. It was joyful, graceful, silent movement—except for shouts of encouragement from the ground and whoops of achievement from the sky—Just like skiers!

I've learned that these sails combine with skis in at least two ways—para-skiing and ski-gliding. The first is what the folks at Mohegan Bluffs were doing—with the addition of take-off and landing on skis. The second is being propelled by a parachute or sail across a flat, frozen surface. Ski gliding involves flying in the air; Paraskiing involves flying while earthbound. Neither one is recommended for people without a high tolerance for risk.

Go West!

Though there is dispute about whether Horace Greeley, in his 1865 New York Tribune editorial, or someone before him first penned the words “go west young man," there is no doubt that it was good advice for skiers.  A popular elementary school chorus song may say it better:

Go West, young man.

Go West, young woman.

Go West, and seize the day!

Go West, young man. 

Go West, young woman.

Your dreams will guide the way!

a librarian must ski bookends!

I recently headed west with a bunch of senior skiers who had at least as much enthusiasm and as the "go west" lyrics suggest despite their age bracket.  Their dreams were of "the steeps" "the trees" "the groomers" "the bowls" and the hot tubs! Snowbird and Alta ski resorts in Utah revealed their very best western snow in the winter of 2017 and those of us who headed west to seize the powder days were not disappointed.  Nightlife at these valley resorts was not as vibrant as at resorts closer to town centers, but traveling with a group means you bring your own party wherever you go.  This particular New Haven, CT ski club never fails to supply a good après ski experience. 

 A unique feature of the Snowbird - Alta Mountains relationship is the Peruvian Tunnel, opened in 2005, that connects them.   A “magic carpet” was laid down after blasting through the rock just as the early miners who used to inhabit the area did.  The tunnel walls are lined with mining memorabilia that makes the 600 foot long journey a mobile history lesson…and perfect YouTube fodder.

Western skiing is all that writers say it is.  Long runs, great snow and a silence that exists because skis and boards are not scraping against ice as they dig in to carve turns.  It took a little getting used to, but I learned to adapt to the ease of skiing in the west!

Ski Areas Welcome Sweethearts

Back in the Middle Ages when Roman Emperor Claudias prohibited young people from marrying (single soldiers fought better then coupled ones), a priest named Valentine would marry lovers in secret.  His illegal marriage ceremonies did not go un-noticed and he was beheaded for performing them--on February 14^th , 278.  

We all know how St. Valentine's martyrdom raised the stakes of romance.  And, lucky for me, my sweetheart knows how to leverage our relationship during ski season.  Mt Snow Ski Area, in Vermont, offers two-for-one tickets to couples in love on Valentine’s Day.  (They also offer summit weddings and renewing of vows at the site of a giant red snow heart on the mountain top.)  Other deals to watch for are $14 tickets (get it? The fourteenth?) at Sugarbush, Catamount and Mad River Glen—but be prepared to kiss your ski partner in front of the ticket window to seal the deal.  The Running of the Bridesmaids at Okemo puts skiers on the slopes in tuxedos and gowns in exchange for a discount—make sure nothing gets caught as you exit the chairlift!  The only thing that could add to a romantic day on the slopes would be equally romantic overnight accommodations. 

So our valentine ski trip included an overnight in a “tiny house” that offered plenty of space to relax and romance each other in après ski mode.

Apple Blossom Cottage: photo from Airbnb listing

If you were not as lucky as me and didn’t get invited on a 2017 Valentine’s Day Ski Getaway, start whispering ideas for next year into your lover’s ear.  Blogs to monitor next season include Snowpak which featured 5 “V-day” destination resorts this year (though only one in the east) and Ski.com which offered suggestions that accommodated various couple preferences—great skiing, great nightlife or great luxury. 

February is for lovers…who ski!

Bota Bag Lesson

My dad was not a big drinker, so why the ski season bota bag, I really don’t know. But I can see him with it, in a Nordic sweater, the wineskin’s cord looped around his head and one arm so the leather pouch rested low on his chest in front of the other arm, pointing slightly upward.   A giant, three dimensional comma, filled with wine.   Surely in his imagination he was the image of the quintessential European skier…but as he led a parade of three little kids,  hats and tiny skis askew, followed by our mom, he was in reality, a little less cool than he was in his head.   I can remember him showing us how it was done.  He’d tip back his head, begin to squirt the wine into his mouth, then draw the nozzle of the sack farther and farther from his face until finally the wine was no longer meeting its intended target and he had rich, red liquid dripping from his nose and chin.  My brothers and I would crack up; my mother would roll her eyes which only encouraged him to direct the stream of wine at her.  He’d laugh at himself and sling the wine-skin behind him—skiing off only slightly embarrassed; confident that his technique was pretty close to classic.

Today’s commercially available renditions of the bota are latex lined leather sacks stoppered like a sport drink bottle.  The ancient origin is lost to history but the iconic Spanish version has emerged as a legacy to traditional personal liquid transport.   Shaped like a curved drop of water the traditional bota was handmade from goat skin that was dried and treated with certain tree bark extracts and vegetable tannins.  It was specially sewn in such a way that the seam was tightly sealed, stitches were turned to the inside and the bag was rinsed with “pez” (not candy but a hot liquid form of juniper resin that creates a waterproof coating when swirled into the flexible bottle).  After a decorative red cord is attached the traditional wine-skin is ready for use.

Sweet fizzy drinks will do ok in the plastic lined version, but not in the traditionally created one.  A "real" bota is perfect for wine—like wine the bags get better as they age and some say the flavor of the wine is enhanced after it lives in the wine-skin for a while.

Dad’s bota eventually became dry and brittle.  The man just didn’t drink enough wine to keep it supple through the years.   So, through him I learned an important ski lesson:  the key to continuous coolness is to drink wine with regularity.  Keep your bota close, and refill it often! 

Winning, Women, and Poodles

Over 1000 dogs pulled on their booties and started running on March 5^th  this year, just like they have on the first Sunday of March since 1973.  They left Anchorage determined to make their humans proud--bringing the first musher into Nome on March 15 at 2:20 in the morning.  The second racer arrived less than an hour later.  The third place finisher had the decency to wait until most people were out of bed, sledding across the finish line at 9 in the morning.  Over the next few days 68 more mushers would cross the Iditarod's finish line, while 14 starters would be beaten by the race itself at various checkpoints along the way—Unalakleet, Kaltag, Galena, Ruby, Cripple, McGrath, Nikolai, Rainy Pass, and Skwentna.  At 23:51 on March 19^th, almost the 20^th, the last musher arrived in Nome and the widow's lantern was extinguished.   Dallas Seavey won the race, but as is so at sports banquets from high school through pro teams from volleyball to ping pong there were other awards presented at the Musher banquet too:  Sportsmanship (John Baker), Most improved (Noah Bumeister), Musher’s Choice (Matt Fador), Golden Clipboard (Nulato)…there were awards that mere skiers would not understand. 

My interest in the race is peaked by two types of competitors—Women and poodles.  As a young woman I swam and skied on men’s high school and college teams because there were no women’s teams at the time, and though competing was fun, winning was not an experience the “girls” would reminisce about.  So I am fascinated by the fact that in this sport women not only compete against the men, but they often win!  Susan Butcher was a 4-time winner (1986, ‘87, ‘88, ‘90) not just competing--but dominating the sport.  She placed in the top 5 in 12 of her 17 attempts. (Before the Iditarod she was the first person to drive her sled dogs to the summit of Mt McKinley!)

Published in Washington Post 3/17/16, courtesy John Suter

And as a dog-mom to my Standard Poodle Picabo (yes, named for the great world class skier Picabo Street) I take vicarious pride in the fact that while Susan Butcher was winning races, John Suter was running somewhere in the middle of the pack with a sled pulled by poodles.  With three poodles on his team in 1988 he placed 38 out of 52 in just over 18 days.  A year later, with an all poodle team, he finished in only 14 days.  He continued to race his fluffy dogs through 1991.  Although poodles did “kick husky butt” they are now banned from the race with all dogs who are not considered “northern breeds.” There is no question that even as they took on the drive to run in the snow from the huskies they were raised with, the poodles retained their generous spirits. In a recent Washington Post interview (March 17, 2016) Suter described their combination of win and wag this way “If you fall off the sled, the huskies will keep running down the trail, [while] the poodles will turn around to see if you’re there and do a U-turn and come pick you up.”  During the era of Susan Butcher and John Suter Sport’s Illustrated reported that it was a time when “Women win the Iditarod and men mush poodles.”

For U.S. skiers March often offers the best downhill hurdles of the season.  But as we gather après ski, conversation turns to the March phenomenon happening in our most northern state—kudos to the men, women and poodles who love to race across the snow!

Jumping for Joy; soring beyond the K Point

There was one cold weekend in the northeast this winter—and it coincided with the Salisbury Winter Sports Association’s annual Jumpfest. That’s Salisbury, Connecticut.  And yes, that’s Ski Jumping.  The SWSA’s website proclaims that ski jumping is as close to flying as you can get.  They say it is fun, and “surprisingly safe” as the “second safest snow sport after cross country skiing.” (And who hasn’t twisted a knee doing that?)

A northeast US map of ski resorts at onthesnow.com shows 109 alpine ski areas (granted they stretch the northeast with some Pennsylvania hiccups).  In the same region those who want to hurtle down a steep narrow ramp in search of flight have a choice of only six club hills.  There are three in New Hampshire--Andover, Hanover, and Lebanon; and one each in Vermont, New York and Connecticut—Saxtons River, Lake Placid and Salisbury.

A poster or short announcement in the local paper is all it takes to fill youth soccer teams to capacity and create a waiting list of players.  But the US Ski Jumping Team doesn’t fill its junior roster so easily.  Their recruiting video  Invitation to Fly was produced to entice new participants.  And their Jumping in the East slide presentation proclaims that the only skills you need are Balance, Flexibility, Strength…oh, and enough “Ski Skill” to turn and stop after landing.  Anyone can do this!

Today the four basic elements of a jump—In -run, take off, flight, and landing—are performed on plastic and porcelain surfaces for year round training but there was a time when snow ruled the sport.  In Salisbury, it was Norwegian immigrant brothers John, Olaf, and Magnus Sartre who livened up winter by bringing jumping to town.  Brother John demonstrated their hometown sport by skiing from the peak of a barn roof and flying 30 feet in the air before landing safely (or so the legend goes).   The town was hooked and the brothers formed the Salisbury Outing Club which hosted its first ski jump competition in January of 1927.  In 1933 the National Ski Jumping Championships were held in the otherwise quiet Connecticut town.   With only brief interludes the town has been jumping ever since.  In 2011 a new, 65 meter jump and steel tower was completed thanks to donations from over 500 people and the hill again became a site for national competitions.

But back to Jumpfest 2016.  In a winter of extreme warmth and diminutive snowfall, the weekend of the Jumpfest saw 2 days of subzero temperatures while wind whipped the flags on the jump tower.  The bar start was moved low on the hill so that competitors were not blown off their landing.   No observer would detect that the fans risked certain frostbite to congregate at the base of the hill.  Bonfires and hot toddies sweetened with pure maple sugar kept the cowbells of enthusiasm ringing as the jumpers flew, soring to land beyond the K-point.  The original extreme sport tradition offered thrills and inspiration to all who gathered to watch.

The SWSA website claims that “ski jumping builds courage, confidence and character.”  Flying through winter will do all of that for sure!