Winter

When I think about growing up in Binghamton, memories of white winters and snow day adventures sit high at the top of my favorites. Since moving to Portland, I've reflected more on my childhood and hometown than I can ever remember, and experiences I haven't thought about in years are suddenly at the front of my mind. Perhaps this welcomed clarity arises from packing up and moving so far from home, from grappling with major life changes.

When we were kids, snow days meant fun: waking up not to an alarm but the sound of shoveling and wailing snow blowers, sledding with the D'Abbraccis at IBM or Rec Park, epic neighborhood snow ball battles, hot chocolate, building massive snow forts and tunnels, shoveling, ice skating on our homemade backyard ice rink, cross country skiing in Chenango Valley State Park, along the Susquehanna, or occasionally, at the French Track. 

Most often those epic snowball fights would end with someone getting pegged in the face, and, subsequently, heading home in tears, head hanging dejectedly. Or, Tyler and Eamonn would get in a fight, and we'd have to go home. 

Once, while cross-country skiing down by the river with Anne, Kristin, and Chris, we came across a woman lying precariously on thin ice. Without hesitation, Anne ran up to a house to call 911, then within what seemed like seconds crawled out on the ice with her ski to rescue the woman while we stood by watching in awe. That was enough excitement for one snow day. 

On another, during the blizzard of 1996 (might very well be wrong on this date), the plows decided to skip the side streets, so we took advantage. My Dad, our neighbor, Jessica, and I cross-country skied up to the top of Johnson hill and back. (It seemed like quite the journey.) Our picture--just us three skiers and a vast sea of snow--made the front page of the paper the next day.

Some winters, if the temperature were consistently below freezing, our Dad would make an ice rink in the back yard. We'd skate and play hockey for hours. (Once, during a mid-winter thaw, the ice rink ended up in our neighbors’ back yard. It was perfectly smooth, which made for a superb skating surface. Let's just say they weren't as thrilled about it as we were!)

Bundled up, skating on our cousins' ice rink on Linden Ave.

On a different cross-country skiing adventure at the French Track, I remember being the Best. Skier. Ever. I didn't fall--even once! (My Dad's memory is perhaps more accurate: I fell every ten feet the whole way back.)

Sometimes, on snowy Saturdays, we'd bundle up, hop in the car and head out to Chenango Valley State Park to cross country ski with our neighbors. My favorite part came after the skiing: building a fire, having a picnic lunch and hot chocolate in the stone pavilion.

In the last ten years, between 60 and 120 inches of snow have fallen in Binghamton each winter. Portland, on the other hand, averages a whopping 2.4 inches. 2.4! So, in order to enjoy winter activities, one must venture to the Cascades where snow falls plentifully. (Close to 30 inches could fall in the next 48 hours on Mt. Hood.)

On Saturday, Lindsay and I drove to Mt. Hood National Forest to snowshoe for the first time. We did a 5.25 mile loop at Trillium Lake, which, on a clear day, offers a spectacular view of the mountain. When we left the city, a huge snow cloud sat on top of the whole mountain, so I knew our views would be seriously limited.

 Mt. Hood, cloaked by falling snow.

This could have been our view from Trillium Lake on a clear day.

Overall, I really enjoyed the trail and snowsnoeing. I am sure we will be back at Mt. Hood or on another trail soon to take advantage of mountain snow and what proved to be a great workout.

Enjoying a snowy winter day on the mountain.