Life in a Northern Town

Here's a fairly nicely framed picture looking out on to the quad at Champlain (or at least where the quad would be if it weren't buried under a couple feet of snow). As I've commented on before it is sometimes easy to forget how beautiful Vermont is, but I sometimes wonder if we ever really forget how long the winter is. I guess we just get immune to it. When I lived down in Atlanta I would start shivering uncontrollably when it dropped into the lower 40's (somehow forgetting my Hoosier roots), but now any temperature in the 20's is cause for celebration and it's time to leave the coat at home. And speaking of coats, I often think that the single biggest thing that I love about summer anymore is just the simplicity of leaving the house without throwing/snapping/tying/zipping on ten pounds of clothes. One of my great failings as a Vermonter (although, truthfully, I'm seven generations short of being considered a true Vermonter) is that I've never succeeded in taking up a winter sport. I'm pleased with how many hours and miles I dedicate to biking in the summer, but so far nothing in the winter. I really don't think my wretched hip and knees would allow for downhill skiing, but I suppose cross country is a possibility. My good friends Trish Siplon and Mike Lange have tried to convince me to take up snow shoeing (although the very fact that I don't know if "shoeing" is the appropriate spelling shows how unlikely it is that I will follow their advice).