Yesterday Bozeman received its first sticking snow of the year. Eliana was jazzed. First we put on her skis and slid down the steepest part of our yard, which is flat enough that she needs a push to get started. We had just picked up her skis and helmet the night before, so the snow was perfectly timed. Then we went to a park which has a good sized hill. We sledded for quite a while and then decided to try some more skiing.
We had the hill to ourselves, which I thought was weird, since normally a sunny weekend day with fresh snow results in hoards of families throwing themselves down the slopes. It all made more sense when I found out that yesterday was the annual ski swap which is a giant magnet for snow-crazed, child-raising Bozemanites. Imagine a Black-Friday-like event for warehouses full of used ski gear, with an emphasis on gear for kids.
When we went skiing at the same place today, the hill was a madhouse. We struggled to find a place Eliana could practice without getting run over by the teenagers on a giant innertube and without smooshing a toddler at the bottom. Eventually we found a particularly weedy spot that the sledders had scorned. From there she happily made runs down until she was worn out.
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