Friday, January 30, 2015


As you might have gathered from my previous post, we are having a lot of snow in Maine.  A LOT. So this morning, tired of fighting the slippery roads into work, I decided to give myself a day off. After breakfast I said to Bill want to go snowshoeing today? He cleared his throat, hemmed and hawed a bit, and finally out came I was afraid you might say that.

Coming from Texas, I have not been a natural at winter sports.  Downhill skiing was hardly possible since I fell at the top of the chair lift every time.  Cross-country skiing wasn't much better-I still fell and those long skis became tangled and I could not get up.  Both embarrassing situations that I was not eager to repeat very often. But snowshoeing...that's a different story. First of all, I don't fall. The shoes are wide and sturdy and they grip the snow just right.  Years ago I was absolutely thrilled to find that here is a winter sport that I can manage and enjoy.

When we first moved to Maine over 20 years ago Bill bought a set of 1930's era snowshoes for me at an antique store.  He had to do a lot of work to make them usable and they were a treasured gift. Most people now use more modern snowshoes made out of aluminum, but these are truly beautiful, make a pretty track and work very well for me. I have cherished them for years.

Living on the coast our snow totals are often not what they are in interior Maine and there have been some years I did not snowshoe.  But this year?  Just perfect.  So what was the problem?  Bill had given away my snowshoes to a neighbor boy down the street who helps us mow our yard. I bet you can imagine my response to that...and now you see the result in the photo above...reunited with my snowshoes.

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