Lily trudged across the hard packed snow, dragging her skis and poles from the side road where we had parked our car to the edge of the ski trail. (We call it the ‘secret spot,’ the small parking lot right off the side of the trail that only locals know about).
It was a very cold, very grey, Vermont April day. It was ‘snowing,’ but it was that kind of snow that borders on hail, stinging our faces. It wasn’t sticking to the ground. It was just blowing across the ice.
“Ready for our last day of the year?” I asked.
“Do I get to have Skittles on the chairlift?” she asked.
I sighed. Why did I start that? “Oh, I guess so. Since it’s our last day.”
The sun peeked out from behind a cloud for just a moment. “Yippee!” Lily shouted, tossing her skis onto the ice and confidently stomped one of her boots into the binding.
As we slid across the trail, our skis scraped across the ice. Oh boy. This is gonna be a tough day. I thought.
But then I looked up the trail to Lily. She was gracefully side-slipping, sideways down the trail, arms open wide like she was surfing. “Weeeeeee! I like this!” she shouted.
She turned and slid sideways in the other direction. “Weeeee!”
She was loving it. It was her first truly icy day this year (a testament to what a wonderful season it has been), and she loved it.