Our family loved to ski on Mt. Ashland. That was back in the day when all 8 of us could ski on a family pass the whole season for just $150. We started with wood skis, leather boots and cable bindings. I loved the drive up the winding mountain road in the truck and camper, all of us together, listening to John Denver sing "You Fill Up My Senses".
Years of skiing the same slopes most weekends soon found Dad looking for something more adventurous. One day, he and Jim and I happened to meet up and he said, "Follow me, boys!" Not to be outdone by our "aged" father, we took off in hot pursuit. He soon left the groomed slope and headed through the powder, blazing a fresh trail through the foot thick, cushy fluff dodging in and out of trees. Looking at him from behind, I at first thought he was crazy, then I realized he was just captivated, inspired, facing a challenge like life itself - not knowing exactly which way the trail would lead next. His hunger for adventure quickly grabbed me and I was right there enjoying it with him. For just a moment I felt a connection that transcended ordinary life. Then he chose a trail that went between two trees whose brittle branches touched in the middle. I snapped out of my ethereal daydream to see him raise his poles in front of his forearms, and breaking through those branches, continue gliding down the mountain. I passed through the hole he made, and a smile crept across my face.
Blaze on, Dad. We are not far behind you.
