"The eskimos had fifty-two names for snow because it was important to them:
There ought to be as many for love."
We've established somewhat of a tradition for ushering in the new year: three out of the past five have taken us to the mountains. This year, we traveled north. First to New Hampshire, where Tiho's best friend and his wife are in residency at Dartmouth, and then an hour west to a cozy lodge in the heart of Killington, Vermont.
I completed four days of snowboarding school, wherein my confidence levels soared the first three lessons and then completely plummeted on the fourth (and last day), when the powdery soft snow gave way to hard slippery ice. I realized that no matter how many skills you learn or how many times you practice them, falling hard on your ass still hurts like a mofo and makes you question why anyone ever willingly straps a board to their feet to sail off the side of a mountain. My husband spent the afternoons whizzing down black diamonds while I (happily) propped my feet up in front of the fireplace with hot chocolate and a book. Everybody wins.
The blizzard day was the best day. We bundled up like fools to ward off the below freezing temperatures and marched out to play in the 2+ feet of fresh snowfall. It should be said that I legitimately feel terrible for people who have never experienced snow. Snow is the most fun thing of all.
And there it is. Another year over, another just begun. Crazy how that happens, eh?
Photos: January 2014 // iphone 5