I had never ice skated wearing a helmet, shin guards, shoulder and elbow pads before, and I had certainly never worn a pair of breezers with a pad that once covered the tail bone of ...
Snowflakes were so big that even a 3 year-old atop his dad’s shoulders could throw back his head and catch them in his mouth. It’s the closest I’ve come to feeling the tranquility of life inside a snow globe.
A friend loans me some snowshoes and I learn what our ancestors had discovered some 4,000 years ago. I float with ease across the snow, leaving a wake of large duck foot impressions behind me.
It was 1989. I was growing up on the edges of Eau Claire’s Forest Hill Cemetery, the best playground any hyperactive, adventurous young kid could dream of.
As a kid, my idea of a great way to spend a winter afternoon consisted of curling up behind the couch with a handful of cookies and a volume or two of the World Book Encyclopedia.
I desperately held on to my aunt, simultaneously trying to stay on the back of the swerving snowmobile and hoping to keep my lunch down. Something was wrong ...
