All of northern New England is suffering from the lack of snow this winter. The Adirondacks, Vermont, New Hampshire, and parts of Maine depend on ski tourism to survive, and this fall we’ve not only had little snow, it’s been too warm for most ski areas to make it. The small rural towns are scrambling. DH and Lucy have been disconsolate.
Here in the High Peaks we had two inches just before Christmas, barely enough to cover the short dead grass in the pastures. DH and Lucy have been out every day possible on their oldest cross-country skis — battered relics known as “rock skis,” kept around just for such scratchy conditions. They’ve dodged mud, skied endless short loops on shoveled snow, and skied up the Olympic mountain half an hour away. But the real ski experience has eluded them. Every morning one or the other presses a nose to the window, peering hopefully into the dark, praying that the snow gods have dumped a thick blanket overnight. Nothing.
Last night DH told Lucy excitedly that we were due for 4-6 inches tonight. They almost danced with glee. I checked a different weather forecast on my computer: rain.
I hope, for their sakes, the iPad wins the day.