There's something invigorating about facing old man winter down. I think it must be the Colorado mountain upbringing. I'd sooner be caught without a pair of blue jeans than without my boots. Not that kind of boots, although they're totally hot, they just aren't practical....right now.
You know I love my boots..I wrote a poem about them in a previous blog (here).
Growing up we didn't put our winter gear away, there was always a chance we would have to shovel snow on the 4th of July.
If we stopped to help someone who slid off the road and they didn't have chains or a bag of kitty litter in there car we knew they were a tourist who was probably heading to the slopes to ski one run then sit and sip hot cocoa. Not like us who would race to the bottom to see who could get back to the top the quickest. We knew we had to get our money out of those lift tickets because we might be able to hit the slopes one more time that season if we were lucky. The rest of the time we were sailing down the mountain in inner tubes trying to dodge trees, praying there would be no cars coming down the road our path crossed, and hoped the lake was as frozen as it looked.
So maybe when I'm lacing up my boots and slipping on my gloves I'm really donning memories of snow packed days of yore, and that's why I get a thrill out of facing down the chill!