Christmas Eve at The Mound

Yesterday La and I (and a whole slew of Swensons) hit the slopes at Bruce Mound in Neillsville, Wisconsin for the fourth year in a row.

It was a perfect day for skiing. Snow was falling continuously, leaving a constantly regenerating blanket of soft powder. The temperature was just cool enough for snow to fall, but just warm enough to keep the snow slick and fast. The conditions were impeccable.

Skiing is my very favorite outdoor activity. Much like La, I've been doing it since I was three years old, and have loved it since day one. For the entire 15-minute drive from Grandma Fern and Grandpa Cal's home, La announced, "I can't wait to ski! I can't wait to ski! Are we there yet? How bout now?" I completely understood her excitement.

I expected La to get to the top of the bunny hill and push me aside, saying she didn't need any help, and shoot the hill like and old pro. But apparently La's ski legs are still developing. Each time she went down, she required someone to hold her hand three-quarters of the way down, until she reached the flatter part of the hill. Then she would tell the person to let go. If that person happened to release her hand a second or two sooner, the crocodile tears would start a-flowin', the legs would stop supporting, and down La would go, in a cloud of fluffy powder.

Basically, she was an uptight control freak the entire time.



But as always, skiing Bruce Mound was an absolute blast for all who partook. I can't think of a better place to be on Christmas Eve.