No, it's not hunting season in Vermont. That's in the fall last I looked, and I'm pretty sure about that since it's one of the few times of year that I don't venture too far into the woods. Largely because there are 21,000 guys out there every day stumbling around in clothes fashioned on the theme of "Mr. Deliverance goes to Wal-Mart" all with guns and live ammunition. Scares me just to think about it.

Yes, there is some snow at Stratton
Yes, Stratton is opening on Thanksgiving
Yes, it's very cold (8 on the beach today)
Yes, I will be snowboarding...again

1. 39-Still Plenty of Time

With early morning temps now in the low 40s on the beach, my thoughts and heart are now being tugged back to Vermont, the birthplace of my father, my grandfather and three generations before him. It's where my wonderful son, Joshua, was born and still evidences his roots in everything from his email address to his passion of snowboarding. Interestingly enough, even though I've lived in Vermont-sometimes full time, sometimes as a weekender-over the past 40 years and even though five generations of Vermonters have gone before me, the dirty little secret is that since I was born on the south side of Chicago, I'll never be recognized as a true Vermonter by the boys on the bench down at the general store. Having said that, when asked by those same good ol' boys about my background, I merely talk about generations of Vermont ancestors and my son and leave out the part about my growing up in a first generation Polish neighborhood of meat cutters and steel workers.