On Top of the Hill at Locke's Ski Tow

The calendar is telling us that we are closing in on the final days of winter, and fortunately, the temperatures are beginning to climb to aide with the melt off. Here in Ohio, we experienced a record amount of snowfall during the month of February, so everyone is about ready to experience some "climate" change. In spite of this year's abundant frozen precipitation, I seem to recall many winters when having more snow made us even happier because we could be outside sledding, skiing, or building snow forts. For my sister and me, all that snow meant that the local ski hill was open for business, and we were about the get our first lessons in "snow plowing".

It wasn't unusual for my folks to take my sisters, brothers, and me on a ride by the local ski hill to watch those enthusiastic Jean-Claude Killy wannabes executing their skills on the slopes. And if you were in high school, oh my goodness, you just wanted to get the chance to do some night skiing at Locke's. Well, when my sister and I were in grade school, my mother enrolled us in ski lessons through the YMCA. My oldest sister acted as the ski equipment consultant to my father as we selected skis and boots at the Mammoth Mart Department store. They were flashy red, and in those days, there were few features to the safety bindings, so once the bindings were secured, that was it. When we arrived home, we practiced putting the skis on and taking them off, right there in the living room.

We spent much of our first lesson just figuring out how to get the skis on and keep from getting too cold while doing so. Rather than using the rope tow, which I felt was a virtual death trap anyway, the instructors had us side stepping up the hill to begin our downhill experience. Lots of us fell just going up the hill, and here we were improving our position for Newtonian physics to take over. If there was ever a recipe for disaster, this was it; poles in hand, "vehicles" without brakes, gravity as a propellant, and excited parents shouting words of encouragement from below. Remarkably, no one was ever impaled or run over by the plebes of ski school. We eventually mastered the snow plow and learned to shift our weight sufficiently so that we could go all the way to the top. It was a veritable Mt. Everest to us, but we somehow managed to negotiate the terrain to the bottom, so we could do it all over again, and again, and again...!

There were a number of memories from our time on the hill, but one in particular I remember quite well. During one of the early lessons, the instructor showed us how to turn ourselves around simply by reversing one ski then the other. Naturally, she made it appear quite simple, but for us, it took some practice. My sister and I practiced that drill, seemingly forever, and ultimately, we both mastered the it. More importantly however, it illustrated a very key point to life for me. If you don't like the way you're headed, just stop and change direction, because it may just keep you from skiing off the trail and into the woods. Thanks for being there when I've been off course, and then encouraging me after getting myself redirected. You have been there with me for those trips both up and down the hill more than I can count. And just one more thing. If we play our cards right, I think we'll have enough time for several more "runs". Happy Birthday MT, and when I see you next time, it'll be my treat for dinner and a milk shake!