The first day of spring greeted me with snow flurries this morning. Winter’s north wind still blows, though not with the meaness of just a week or so ago. Ski Roundtop is now officially closed for the season, ending yesterday afternoon with its traditional pond skimming—an event where skiers, often in swim suits, ski down a slope and across a pond of water. If they hit it just right (and aren’t too heavy) they might make it across the water, but usually they don’t.
I don’t particularly care for spring. For one thing it means winter is over. For another, spring is a season that apparently has a great press agent, always promising warm weather, gentle breezes, baby animals, etc. The hype for this season is so much nicer than the reality. The reality is usually a cold rain, and this brings up my own personal nickname for spring: mud season. There’s not much fun going down the mountain to walk along the stream in the valley when every step I take creates giant sucking noises. I think I stopped liking spring about the first time I ruined a decent pair of boots and came home with muddy feet.
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