Forehead, Nose, or Chin?

"So what are we after here, the brow? The nose?"

"I'm not sure," Joanna said.

"One of the facial parts is higher than the others, and therefore the summit. We only need the summit."

One day later, Mt. Washington was a thing of the past, a fading memory of a conquered mountain, just another high point to be checked off, the digital pictures left forgotten in the camera to be viewed later. That is, until I stood up from anywhere I was sitting, and my screaming muscles reminded me that I only came off that summit less than 18 hours ago. Still, I had limited time left in Vermont and Mt. Mansfield was in my crosshairs.

Mount Mansfield, Vermont

Mt. Mansfield is so named because the mountain is said to resemble the reclining profile of a man. And so certain peaks are referred to as the Forehead, the Nose, the Lips (Upper and Lower), the Chin, even the Adam's Apple. I needed to research this and find out which facial part was the true summit. My guess was the nose.

It was a beautiful Sunday morning in late May. Joanna and I were out on the patio in her back yard under the huge spreading maple tree. The sun was warm, the breeze balmy, the coffee hot, I had my laptop and she had the Wall Street Journal.

"Isn't this the life? A leisurely morning sitting outside with a pot of coffee and the Wall Street Journal. Ahhhhhh, isn't this blissful?"

Poor Joanna woke up with her left eye swollen shut. One of those nasty black flies bit her near her eyelid and it swelled up in her sleep.

Yesterday coming down the mountain the voracious critters were finding anywhere to bite that wasn't covered in clothing or had bug spray on it. I remember slapping the back of my neck only to bring my hand away with blood smeared on it. "Are there black flies on my neck?" I asked Jo, who was walking behind me.

"OH my God, Mom. You have 4 bites on your neck. No, you have 5! Five bites on your neck. Wait, move your hand. Six! You have six black fly bites on your neck!" We stopped right there to get the bug spray out again. Joanna covered her neck with her bandana as well. Too late, of course, but they pretty much stopped bothering us, although they still swarmed around our eyes. You can't put bug dope on your eyes!

Hence, Joanna's swollen eye. She wore sunglasses all day Sunday.

"So it says here that "when viewed from the east or west, this mountain has the appearance of a (quite elongated) human profile, with distinct forehead, nose, lips, chin, and Adam's apple. These features are most distinct when viewed from the east; unlike most human faces, the chin is the highest point." So I guess we go for the chin. We don't need the forehead or nose, I'm going straight for the chin. Let me see which trails go there."

"What is a madagascan tree climber, 5 letters?" Joanna asked. She had moved on to the Sunday Crossword.

"Hmmm, not sure. The Long Trail! The Long Trail goes straight to The Chin. Looks like we drive toward Stowe and then take VT 108 to the trail head. 2 1/2 miles to the summit. That shouldn't be bad at all, after Washington.

The Long Trail (273 miles) was built by the Green Mountain Club between 1910 and 1930, and is the oldest long-distance trail in the United States. It follows the main ridge of the Green Mountains from the Massachusetts-Vermont line to the Canadian border as it crosses Vermont's highest peaks. It was the inspiration for the Appalachian Trail, which coincides with it for one hundred miles in the southern third of the state.

"Let me check the weather for tomorrow. Are you sure you want to hike with me?"

With only one good eye and sore legs, I wasn't sure she really wanted to come.

"Of course I want to hike. Important layer, 12 across, what is an important layer, five letters?"

"Okay, just making sure. Important layer, hmmm. Are you just hiking it so you can tell your friends?"

I remembered our conversation from earlier in the week. It seemed some Vermont acquaintances of hers thought that hiking Mansfield was the hike to end all hikes. They taunted, "Yes, we grew up on these mountains, we've played on them in the summer, and skied on them in the winter. Mansfield is a tough and rugged mountain! You have to be hardy to hike Mansfield!"

"Yes. I have to be hardy."

"But you just hiked Washington. It's nearly 2,000 ft. higher!"

"I know. But that wouldn't phase them. They would still think that Mansfield is more rugged and somehow harder."

"But Washington has dangerous weather patterns. And violently strong wind gusts."

"Wouldn't matter to them. Some are tributarios, 4 letters."

"What are tributarios?"

So we settled on the Long Trail hike and I checked the weather. It was to be fair with one isolated thunderstorm around noon. I thought if we got our butts out of bed and hiked in the morning we could be finished by the time that thunderstorm arrived.

Monday morning, Memorial Day, dawned sunny and bright with the promise of a warm day. We discussed our ascent over a less leisurely coffee hour than Sunday, and started packing up lunch, snacks, and water in our day packs. No crossword today because of time and because it had accidentally gotten wet yesterday and was drying.

"Don't forget the bug spray!" Joanna cautioned. I had it, but I'm not sure how much was left after Saturday's hike. Her poor eye was still swollen shut. I only assumed so because she sported sunglasses at 7:30 a.m.

I checked the weather one last time. That passing thunderstorm still stubbornly sat in the forecast. Oh well, we just have to get moving. "Don't forget some kind of rain slicker, Jo."

I don't think Thunder minded being left out of this hike. While we busied ourselves with packing he only looked up from his bed looking mildly curious instead of bounding around the house, wagging ferociously.

We piled into Joanna's Forerunner and drove up I-89 towards Stowe, and then onto Vermont 100. When we turned onto Vermont 108 we could see Mansfield rising up calmly behind the quaint Stowe village, made famous by the Von Trapp family settling there in the 1940's.

"I think it's a reach, calling that the profile of a man," Joanna pointed out.

"I agree. That's an awful profile. But look--the chin doesn't look too high, does it?"

We found a place to park not far from the Long Trail where it crossed Vt. 108. As we got out of the car to use the restroom Joanna announced, "I don't think I'll be able to climb this mountain today."

My heart fell. "Why!?" I looked at her and she was grinning.

"Because I can't even walk!"

We both laughed. Our legs were stiff from sitting in the car, true. I hoped that with some stretching we both would feel better and be able to hike.

We signed in at the trail head and started up. Since it was a short hike, I knew it would be steep. And it was. Relentless uphill climbing to reach the 4,395 ft. chin. With an elevation gain of 2,800 feet in 2.3 miles, there was plenty of up.
In some places at the beginning, some kind humans put these wooden steps in place for us.

Joanna invented a way to climb the steps without having to lift her weary legs too high.

With .6 miles to go we are happy to reach the Butler Lodge at 3,040 ft. Joanna delights in seeing the distance to The Chin!

Mount Mansfield is one of two places in Vermont where Arctic Tundra can be found; the other place being Camels Hump. The extreme climatic conditions along the ridge line support this growth. There are about 200 acres of Arctic Tundra on Mount Mansfield; Camels Hump only holds a few acres. And they like to protect it.

This is a closeup of the sign above. "Au secours!" complain the despairing little plants. I don't speak French, but even I understand the plant's desperate cry for help. It's in French since we are close to the Canadian border and because obviously they don't trust the French not to smash the tundra with their uncaring boot-clad big feet.

As we reached the alpine area, we also started to encounter clouds of gnat-like flies. No fun--feeling them buzz around my sweaty face.

"Are these black flies?" I asked alarmingly.

"No, they are grey."

"I mean, are they the black flies? Are they going to start biting?" They were awfully annoying.

"No, they aren't black flies. They are grey. They are harmless gnats or something. They can't be black flies if they are grey." Joanna spoke with the sort of confidence that, as if by saying so, made it true.

This conversation repeated itself every time we came upon another patch of flies. "Are these black flies?!"

"No, Mom. Look at them, they are GREY." Joanna was losing patience.

I think a "cloud of black flies" is a very apropos choice of words. Besides being "a visible collection of particles", cloud is also defined as "anything that obscures or darkens something, or causes gloom, trouble, suspicion, disgrace, etc." The silly gnats were surely causing me suspicion, gloom, and trouble.

We were now just below the chin. After a bit a rock scrambling and bouldering, we made it. This is us on the summit!










This is the obligatory boot shot of the summit marker.

If Thunder had been with us, surely we would have taken a boot/paw shot of the benchmark as these people did.

The view is astounding and endless but we didn't have much time to find this out because remember the isolated thunderstorm? Well the pesky thing was quickly heading our way. I figured we had about 3 minutes to snap some pictures and scramble back off the unprotected summit. Wouldn't want to boulder down rain slick rocks.





This picture isn't mine. But I love it because it depicts someone sitting on the top edge of the chin, and looking towards the other peaks: lower and upper lip, nose, and forehead. The Long Trail traverses the entire ridge. Those transmitting towers sit atop the nose. The auto toll road also goes to the nose with a Visitor Center on top. Also, Stowe Ski Resort's gondola goes to the nose with a Cliff House restaurant and with ski fields down the east flank of the mountain. The nose is a busy place. There is even a mountain chapel. I read somewhere that in Spring when the snow melts the skiers call it the Runny Nose!

Once we got down the rocky part the rain passed as quickly as it came, and we looked around for a place to eat our lunch. I suggested going back to the summit. The sun was coming out. We could enjoy the view. They say you can see the Adirondacks in New York, Lake Champlain, the Green Mountains and the White Mountains of New Hampshire. But the idea of climbing back up those rocks didn't appeal to Joanna at all. I looked around.

The Adam's Apple

"How about the adam's apple? We could eat on top of that."

 Joanna said no, we would have to go up.

"That's more like across. It's actually lower than where we are here."

"But look at the trail. It goes down and then back up to the adam's apple."

"But look! There are some folks hiking there for lunch." I had noticed a bunch of young hikers from the very nearby Taft Lodge making their way. They had only 40 minutes before been rousing themselves from sleep when we passed the lean to. I could just imagine their noble plans made around the campfire the night before, probably emboldened with liquor. "HEY, I've got an idea: tomorrow let's hike up to the Adam's Apple for lunch!"

Joanna looked around and found a nice perch on a couple of rocks right where we were. We had our lunch and joked about the weather, the grey flies, the facial parts of the mountain, particularly the adam's apple, and how the true summit was still so very close, yet neither of us wanted to go back up, content with the view from where we were. A little bird sang from the treeline tree tops just a few feet away. Life was peaceful.
On our way down we passed the trail to the adam's apple. You can just make out a day hiker headed for the top.

Here is Profanity Trail, so named for the expletives you voice when you run into unexpected hazardous summit conditions and have to bypass the chin!

Fiddleheads

Below is a tiny field of fiddleheads. They love to eat them in New England in Spring. (See my blog from 6/5/2011)

And here is my Joanna headed down. She's always smiling on the way down. But she has reason. Life is Peaceful. Vermont is Beautiful. Mom didn't pick any fiddleheads to take home and eat for dinner. Her eye is still puffy, but she has these oh so cool sunglasses to hide the puffiness. But mostly. . . mostly because she is now Vermont-hardy. Not New Hampshire or anywhere else, because it doesn't count. Just Vermont.

Hiking Mt. Washington

tuck·er - to weary; tire; exhaust (often followed by out)

During a Spring visit to Joanna and Seth's home in Vermont, I was determined to hike the high points of New Hampshire and Vermont, Mt. Washington and Mt. Mansfield, respectively. I had nearly accomplished the daunting Mt. Washington on a prior backpacking trip, but ran out of time.

Two years previous, I stood on nearby Mt. Jefferson, another peak in the Presidential Range of the White Mountains in New Hampshire, and gazed at Washington's summit in the warm sunshine. I could just make out the weather station with its various antennas pointing to the sky. From this point, hiking there and back would take four hours, plus the 2-hour hike back to the tent site.

The sun was shining and the temperature high with a mild breeze--two unusual weather conditions for the Washington Summit, which is notorious for tumultuous winds and rain, sleet, or snow and freezing temperatures (the summit buildings are chained to the mountain). As I stood contemplating, Presi Traverse peakbaggers (courageous individuals who summit all the Presidential Range in one day, some 8 summits) were passing me by, enthusiastic to summit Washington, the highest and crowning glory of the White Mountains! But realistically I figured 6 more hours of hiking would be too fatiguing on top of what I had already done that day. I reluctantly gave up the idea and turned back.

So in the Spring of this year I set my sights on Washington again. I planned to do it alone, thinking no one else would really want to torture themselves with the 2 1/2 to 3 hour climb in weather like a violent mood swing. But my friend Ann from Maine was immediately interested and Mike wanted to come along too. We chose a day and I traveled to Vermont to be with Joanna and Seth. As the day drew near, the weather looked ominous, so we changed the summit day to Saturday. Joanna announced that she would go too, now that it was a non-work day. Then when Seth got home from work, he and Thunder wanted to come!

So my solo Mt. Washington hike turned into a summitting team of five people and a dog! I guess a mountain peak known as "Home of the World's Worst Weather" and holding the record for the highest wind gust ever recorded (231 mph) has its own allure! Mount Washington is the highest peak in the Northeastern United States at 6,288 ft and famous for its dangerously erratic weather.

Friday afternoon, Joanna and I checked the weather on the summit. Thunderstorms and 46 degrees with 26 mph winds. Yeah, Mike made a good call on the weather! Saturday said breezy and warmer with actual sun. After Joanna closed her laptop, we packed up the last of our gear and started out.

Driving through the Green Mountains and then into the White Mountains is heaven on earth pretty. Then when the mighty Washington looms on the horizon, you know you are there. You can see the tops of the other mountains. But Washington sits grandly on its base with its summit disappearing into swirling mist and clouds.

We met Ann and Mike for dinner and then all hit the sack early for our 530 am morning alarm. The next day we got some coffee and a little breakfast in us, and then drove to the Tuckerman's Ravine trail head to gear up. Last minute check of the weather and we were off!

We chose Tuckerman's Ravine for our ascent, but we found it was partly closed due to snow melt which caused hazardous conditions: melting ice bridges and slippery paths. But we could start out on Tuckerman's and then the Lion Head trail would take us on a detour around the danger zone and later reconnect with Tuckerman's. Mileage would remain the same: 4 miles to the summit. Easy.

The first two miles were not hard. A broad though very rocky trail climbed relentlessly uphill. Once you got used to sweating, having an accelerated heart beat, breathing fast but steady, and you had stopped once to get your bug dope out to defend yourself against the proliferous and aggressive black flies, we all made steady progress. Thunder joyously ran about and did 4 miles to our two.

Then came The Lion's Head. The trail was narrower, steeper, and began to have great views. If you could tear your attention away from the even steeper parts ahead, and the fact that the trail started going straight up and over boulders and rocks, you could stop and turn around to look at your amazing progress and the beautiful valley stretched out below because we were almost above treeline!

After getting through the rocky climbs where you would get not much further laterally, but 10 feet higher, the trail evened out a bit. Persistently up, but more gradually the trail continued through scrubby trees and low plants covering the rocky trail. Then ahead I spied this huge outcropping. It looked exactly like the profile of a lion! Now I knew where the name of the trail came from. And as I hiked ever up and closer, I saw Thunder standing in majesty on top of the huge rock, looking exactly like a lion looking out over his kingdom and sniffing the breeze.

 This is Seth on Lion Head rock.










We took a break under the lion's head. Water, power bars, trail mix, and dog food for Thunder.

Morale is still high. Thunder's sniffing the air and looking out over his new kingdom.

Ann and I are enjoying the hike. Last time we hiked a big mountain together was Katahdin in Maine. It had been too long!

Time to move on! We are ready to move up over the head wall and ascend the cone of the mountaintop. The clouds are moving in and we can no longer see the valley.

I was in the lead when I climbed over the head wall with Thunder. The wind struck at me with a cold force that took my breath away. My immediate thought was that I couldn't hike in this weather! But I quickly acclimated and it became very invigorating. The trail now was flat rocks winding along gorse and other alpine low shrubbery with little rivulets of water running through. Thunder knew the way and I let him go.

This is Tuckerman's Ravine, the part we detoured around. It is a glacial cirque, sloping eastward on the southeast face of the mountain and draws hikers throughout the year, and skiers throughout the winter. It is best known for the many "spring skiers" who ascend it on foot and ski down the steep slope from early April into July. Yeah, I'm up for that.

Shortly we regained the the Tuckerman trail and the sign post read .8 miles to the summit. Piece of cake.

Too quickly things got very vertical. We were on the cone and somewhat protected from the wind. The layers we had pulled on began to be hot and I had to take frequent small breathing breaks. I was not so invigorated.

After periods of very steep hiking when we thought we really had covered some ground, the sign post read .6 to the summit! The really disappointing one was when I was sure we were nearly there! We had to be, we had been hiking a good long while STRAIGHT up when the next post came into view: .4 miles to the summit. Good Lord! This summit doesn't give itself up easily.

.2 miles to the summit. Bloody hell! I made myself feel better by reasoning that at least the last .1 mile was through the more level parking lot and up to the sign post that marked the summit. I knew because I had driven to the top some years ago.




Finally, we started hearing voices and car engines. Hooray! I was never so overjoyed to see cars and people on a summit I had just climbed. At first I saw car tires rolling by a little above eye level, which felt odd. But then we were up and over and walking through the parking lot and to the summit.

We're so proud of Thunder! He's proud of us too.

On Mt. Washington the weather flies by as though you are traveling in an airplane. You look down on cloud layers and those that are level with the summit literally whip past you. One moment you can see a little valley view and the next second it's all obliterated with a big gust of air.

They have an auto toll road and a cog railway so that everyone can come up.

The Tip Top House - The historic and former hotel atop Mt. Washington. It is the oldest surviving building on the summit and believed to be the oldest extant mountain-top hostelry in the world. It was the only summit building to survive the great fire of 1908. It currently features exhibits concerning the mountain's history.

This is the second Summit House (1915) replacing the original which perished in the fire. Here is an ad describing the hotel:

"The Summit House is a long, plain, three-story structure of wood, solidly bound down to the ledges, and adequate to the accommodation of 150 guests. Two steam-heated stories are for sleeping-rooms, and no guest can control the steam in his room, which is continually circulating through the entire heating system. Guests on retiring are furnished candles, of the good old honest non-explosive variety. The lowest story contains parlors, a large
dining-room, the hotel office, containing also a telegraph and post-office, a bric-a-brac counter, and in the center a great generously-filled coal stove, which usually draws within its influence most of the visitors to the summit."

This description begs the question that as a guest in a hotel in those days, what would you be furnished as opposed to the good old honest non-explosive variety of candle?

Perhaps it was the type of candle that was furnished to guests of the previous hotel. You know. The one that started the great fire of 1908.

This is the Yankee Summit Building with some transmitting towers behind it.

Nearby is the large Sherman Adams Summit Building where we got in out of the wind to eat our packed lunches. It is the site of the Mount Washington Weather Observatory which has "occupied" the summit year-round since 1932. It is also the headquarters of the Mt. Washington State Park. It has a cafeteria, gift shop, public restrooms, Post Office, and a first aid room. It is a crowded place in summer with people flooding in from the auto toll road and the cog railway.

Joanna and Seth had to picnic outside, though, in a sheltered sunny area because Thunder was not allowed in. Seth came in to say that Joanna did not want to hike down the way we came.  She was tuckered out.

"Well what does she want to do?" I asked. "If she takes the cog railway, she will end up on a different side of the mountain than where we are parked. We'd have to go get her."

Seth said she was thinking of walking down the Auto Toll Road if someone would go with her. I told Seth to go find out how long it was. If it was 10 miles or so, I wasn't interested. When he came back, he replied that it was 8 miles long. I grinned at him. That's still too long! Both Mike and Ann shook their heads. Mike was only interested in hiking back down a trail and Ann thought 4 miles of rugged trail was better than 8 miles of road.

So what did I do? You guessed it. I walked down the 8 miles with my darling daughter. The way was certainly easier and more sure-footed and we could move quickly. Joanna was a happy camper. See her grinning?

AND, we had these sweeping views all the way down!

I gazed over at Mt. Jefferson and Mt. Adams where I had stood two years before yearning to finish my hike to Washington. Now I had finally completed it.

We got down lickety split, though it was a long way and my legs were beginning to go numb. Also, at about 2,000 feet the black flies came back out with a vengeance!

We rewarded ourselves with ice cream sandwiches in this handy little Auto Toll Road gift shop complete with front porch seating under a shady porch. It was hot in the valley!

Was Thunder tuckered out! He hopped in the car and stayed asleep all the way home. (When we arrived home he wouldn't even jump out because his legs were so sore.)

Back to the trail head, our car, and a cold one to celebrate. My first high point of the year. Thanks to Mike & Ann, Joanna & Seth, and Thunder for being worthy and fun companions.

Joanna and Thunder were both tuckered out, as were all the rest of us. Perhaps that is where they got the name for the infamous ravine beneath the noble Washington summit: Tuckerman's Ravine!

One Week of Winter

It's already Spring, but I'm going to write about Winter. You see, everyone around town is talking about how we went from Autumn straight into Spring with no Winter at all. Some folks are happy, but some are not. They say that it would have been great to have at least one good snowfall so that they feel like they at least had some winter. That actually happens quite often in Cincinnati, no good snowfall at all, but I don't point this out to them. I don't want to rub it in while I'm telling them that I did have Winter! I had several days of winter with a couple of good snowfalls up in Vermont where I visited Joanna and Seth during the Christmas Holidays.

Paul and I drove up together and left on Christmas Eve Eve Eve around 7 pm. We stopped at our favorite rest area at Chautauqua Lake near Jamestown, New York, hometown of Lucille Ball. This rest area is a small distance off of the interstate, perched on the side of the lake with a gorgeous vista, is never crowded, the car lot is far from the truck lot, and (get this) it has a night watchman. The bathrooms are spectacularly clean, airy, dry and tiled beautifully as though it were a hotel. I almost felt like I should check in! But instead I just washed up, brushed my teeth, and went back to the car to sleep. Since it's winter and New York, we were a little concerned about staying warm. Paul refused to leave the car running, thereby burning up precious fossil fuels. So we compromised by turning the heat on full blast while we were in the bathroom with the hope that the car would stay warm through the wee hours of the night. I was skeptical, but we were warm as toast.

The rule is that the first person to wake up starts driving. The benefit is that they are treated to a wondrous morning view of the lake.

See! Who wouldn't want to wake up to this!!?

I always wake up first, so Paul always misses this.




After getting situated back on I-86 my first order of business was to find coffee. Sometimes, if I'm lucky, I can find a Starbucks. But more often I find a Dunkin' Donuts. They abound in New England for some reason. We purchased breakfast to go but it wasn't that great. Paul bought a munchkin (donut holes) variety pack and found that they really are all the same. They just put different coatings on them and pretend like they are different flavors. At various times in the day, we kept eating them hoping for something good. It got to be a joke where one of us would say with huge appeal, "You wanna munchkin!?" and the other would just laugh. We couldn't wait until they were gone.

After driving the yawning breadth of the great State of New York we finally entered Vermont. Entering Vermont is exciting because you think you are almost there. But you never are almost there because Vermont has no short cuts. So we drove over hill and dale enjoying the scenery. We drove over winding two-lane mountain roads that had rumble strips down the center line. We passed through quintessential New England hamlets all decked out for Christmas. We drove through snow and ice and sunshine and past ski resorts and farmland and wooden covered bridges until we finally arrived at our destination:







Smuggler's Notch Resort.





This notch or pass in the Green Mountains has a long history of being used as a smuggling route. In the early 1800's when the US government imposed an embargo on English imports, the British shipped to Canada instead and smuggled the goods down through Vermont. And once again during Prohibition, liquor was smuggled from Canada down through New England. The smuggling route uses the thickly wooded Long Trail that has caves and caverns which were handy for storing goods.

This old print on the left is a little over-dramatized, I think.

Because the notch looks more like this:



The next day, Christmas Eve, we all went snowboarding. That is, me and a bunch of 20-something year olds. I board very carefully taking no risks because I can't afford a broken wrist (or anything else for that matter) in my line of work. So I was the old lady conservative snowboarder playing catch up to all the kids. But the little darlings all politely waited for me at intersections and lifts. Thanks, guys, for not leaving me wondering where you all went!

That night we celebrated Chanukah. Same as the night before. In fact this Jewish holiday is celebrated for 8 days running. Why don't the Christians celebrate Christmas like that? Perhaps if we had time to spread it all out, it wouldn't be so stressful. Last I checked there were 12 days of Christmas, for goodness' sake.

After the party, Joanna and Paul and I somehow squeezed Joanna's things in with all of our stuff (I had been lovingly toting around all my Christmas presents that I didn't want to leave in the freezing car overnight. But I was ready to leave them under a tree for good!). We're talking presents, suitcases, snowboards, and other gear!  Then we went to spring Thunder from his dog sitter and squeezed him in on Paul's lap. He was greatly excited to be free and with us and going for a ride all at once! The true Christmas spirit!

Driving along Vermont back roads through small towns on Christmas Eve is like viewing Christmas card after Christmas card.

Paul's Girl

 Once we got to Jo's house, the first order of business was to vamp up the furnace. Brrrrrrr! Then we had a hot drink, decorated the Christmas tree listening to A Very She & Him Christmas and put all the presents under the tree! We kept wondering why it was still so cold in the house. Then Joanna realized she had lit some candles directly under the thermostat. It didn't know how completely freezing it was 10 feet away and so the furnace did not click on!

T

The next morning dawned cold and grey with snow flurries in the air! Jo and I made coffee and snuggled into the living room gazing at the pretty tree and talking. We wondered when it was safe to rouse Paul from sleep without suffering his wrath and decided to start breakfast instead.

Then when we could stand it no longer we woke him up! He was right there on the futon after all. He reluctantly agreed to get up and then, as is our Christmas tradition, Paul plays elf and hands out the presents one at a time so we have the luxury to ooh and aah over each one.

Seth and Raffi arrived bang on time for breakfast, and we had a feast!


The rest of the day was spent not doing much, as Christmas should be. I volunteered every time to take Thunder out, and instead of one quick freezing jaunt around the back yard, we went on a Christmas Day neighborhood romp. I put on coat, hat, snowboard mittens, and Joanna's wonderfully warm and stylish snow boots (I decided I would buy some too) and Thunder and I went exploring.


It was funny to see the moment Thunder realized we weren't just going around the back yard. As we approached the back door he pulled that direction and I pulled toward the driveway. As we approached the car, he waited for me to open the back door for him. And when he realized we were going for a walk (!) his joy knew no bounds! I took him mostly to the cemetery because it was peaceful and quiet. Snow fell gently as we walked respectfully around. I love cemeteries! I love to read the tombstones and guess at the lives of the dead and think about their marriages, their children, the sentiments they wrote on the grave markers. One whole corner was filled with only children. I wondered if there had been some epidemic, but the years of death weren't all the same. Possibly several epidemics. Or not. Maybe just a children's corner.

When we got back, Thunder was eager to tell his Momma and Papa where he'd been. His Momma told me the cemetery is off limits to pets for obvious reasons. Ah well. The birds and squirrels and dear doo doo in there and nobody stops them. Plus I made sure Thunder did his business at home as usual.

Cooking Christmas dinner was delicious, warm, and cozy with Joanna's scrumptious recipes. Oh, and manhattan cocktails for the cook(s)!

We were making beef tenderloin, and a savory vegetarian flaky pot pie for Paul, but luckily he shared it with the rest of us. A deep red Christmas wine completed the meal. I don't remember dessert. Did we have dessert, Joanna?

 The day after Christmas, Seth and Raffi went skiing early, hoping for that elusive "powder". I decided to try to summit Mt. Mansfield in the snow and cold. My long-suffering children agreed to accompany me. Mt. Mansfield is the highest point in Vermont, and I am trying to summit all the highest state points in the East.






Having studied the trails the night before, we decided the best way up in the snow and ice was to snowshoe up the toll road. We geared up and hit the trail in good spirits.

The toll road crosses some of the ski runs at Stowe. So we had to hurry across the trails making sure that we didn't get in the way of an oncoming skiier or boarder. Joanna didn't like this and felt in their way. But we managed to make her cross a couple of times!






The day sunny and cold, the trail sun-dappled, the views spectacular, and the road long. We were nearing the top, maybe 3/4 of the way along, when we took an appraisal of the hike. My feet were like ice blocks, and I was running out of energy. The kids were tired but their feet weren't cold. We realized the toll road didn't actually go all the way to the summit, but only a trail which would be steep, windy, and icy. We decided to come back in summer!

Once we made that decision, we turned and bolted for the car like homing pigeons.

I'll be back, Mansfield! It was worth a try! What a beautiful mountain.

At home we had a warm drink and Joanna fell immediately asleep.










I started to read but was sleepy and fell asleep too!

Thunder was sleepy as well, although he didn't go snowshoeing with us.








That night we celebrated Paul's birthday early in Montpelier. And so ended my one week of winter in 2011-2012.

We celebrated Chanukah.



 

 We celebrated Christmas.

I got a week of snowboarding, snowshoeing, crisp cold air, jaunts through the snow with Thunder, beautiful wintry vistas, nighttime drives with churches, snow, and Christmas lights.

Vermont always has winter!