Last Thanksgiving we were deep in Utah powder skiing with our two kids. The snow was fluffy and plentiful at Alta, Snowbird and Solitude, and someone else prepared the feast. This year was markedly different as our son is in college in Montana, and he chose to stay out west and instruct skiing at Big Sky on Thanksgiving Day instead of flying to be with us for turkey. We raised a bright boy apparently, with excellent taste in ski resorts. Or maybe he remembers how the skiing in the East can be marginal in November.
So while we couldn't be skiing together, I like that he is teaching kids to ski, like we taught him, and like his dad and I, and my mom, all taught skiing professionally in the past. It's a rite of passage, just as skiing is a shared passion amongst our family. And although we weren't making tracks side-by-side in the snow together this November, we share that bond on the snowy slopes and the tradition of skiing - wherever we all may be. I will be thankful for future ski days reunited with my family, and I am grateful for the sport of skiing that we all love.
Photo by Greg Burke