“Old times are coming back to me,” is one of my favorite John Hiatt lines. As I survey the collection of skis propped up against the garage wall, I spy my oldest skis, beautiful wooden Kongsberg skis, and think, “Old skis are coming back to me.” Every time I see them, they remind me of my first winter in New England — the epic winter of 1978. Fifty years ago, I moved to New Hampshire from Virginia. I had no idea what real winter was like, but I got a fast education! I was teaching in Keene, but living in East Alstead, 20 miles or more north up hilly roads. I had a Chevy Vega and no real snow driving experience. I also had no ski experience — downhill or cross-country. I was, as they say, a...
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