Letter to Stuart McLean

Dear Stuart,

 

          I live in the snowy mountains of northern Montana, surrounded by miles and miles of pristine forest. People around here like to go snowmobiling, backcountry skiing – and the regular kind, too, at our local ski hill – snowshoeing and even dog-mushing; anything to get outside into the crisp, clean hills during the cold months. I like back-country skiing, which is like cross-country skiing, only you use heftier equipment, so you have a better range and can go in rougher country. One cold day my friend Bonnie and I decided to make a ski trip that would take three or four hours and offer us wide, sweeping views from the ridges, deep powder in the bowls and pleasant interludes of kick- Continue reading

Even more snow

     Nobody I know thought it was possible, especially given the overall climate trends we’ve seen over the past ten years or so – not to mention the unmistakable fractiousness of our townspeople- but we in the Bustling Burg of Babbling Brooks are unified in our utter fed-up-ness with snow. We live in Fed-Up-Istan. Without a constitution. Even Margie from the ski hill, whose very daily bread depends on snow was heard to say that it could stop now. I’m hoarse from shouting at the sky to just stop, stop, stop it with the snow, even though I am, as you all know, a fairly avid winter enthusiast. We had another foot and a half this week. Not only that but every freakin’ day just after I hang up the snow Continue reading