Seasonal change

The first real snowfall of the season arrived the afternoon before Thanksgiving, transforming our neighborhood into a bright, white wonderland. I had barely had time to roll up and put away the hoses that had, in the previous season or two, been handy for transporting water from our rain barrels to our lawn and garden.

This seasonal transition, and the way it almost catches me unprepared (even though the general timing of it, in the big picture, is quite predictable), reminds me of the old days in Danvers. My mother used to comment about the overlapping of the seasons. She meant particularly the seasons of my father's favorite sports: sailing and skiing. There was a scramble each fall to get ready for ski season because he'd continued sailing until the last minute. Getting the boat hauled out of the water, brought home from Marblehead, and stored in the barn took up some of the weekend time that otherwise could have been spent in ski-trail maintenance and preparation of the rope tow. (My family ran the ski tow at Locust Lawn Ski Club in Danvers). The same problem happened each spring. My parents loved spring skiing, and delayed preparing for the sailing season, causing a last-minute scramble to get the wooden sailboat ready for the first races in Marblehead.

I am writing a column this week about skiing at Locust Lawn, remembering the fun and convenience of that local ski hill.