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As a new homeowner a few decades ago, I needed a ladder and foolishly bought a heavy-duty fiberglass 28-footer that could reach the highest point. That was a bad move; other than once I’ve never needed to reach that high; the ladder is unwieldy and even fully retracted it’s too long for most jobs. Later and a little wiser, I acquired a lightweight 16-foot extension ladder which I now use for almost everything.
Many of my friends make the same mistake when they shop for cross-country skis, buying for the most extreme conditions they’ll ever encounter. In the store they convince themselves they need wide, back-country skis with metal edges, in case of deep powder or an icy traverse. They ski-trudge that heavy-duty gear on ordinary trails and easy roads like the one to Great Camp Santanoni. They even take them to groomed Nordic centers. Instead, their primary pair should have been a light-touring setup that’s good for almost everything except the rare extremes.
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The Fleeting Fastness of Frost
Down in town at the new diner they’re cursing, spitting out that gardeners’ f-word; frost. Meanwhile, I’m ecstatic, I’m up the hill having a great time gliding across Kathy and Bob’s lawn, so glad to be on my skis at last.
It’s frost time and as my gardening friends’ season tapers off, so finally begins mine. Skiing, today for the first time since April, feels so good, my whole body involved, nothing like it, kick and glide, kick and glide, breathe in, breathe out, kick and glide, breathe in, breathe out, glide, glide, glide.
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