PATRICK MCVAY

WRITER

My Musings

This text is currently hidden by a css change. Alow's me to go directly to the category description because it is editable in the front end,

Grassy

Picture of a chairlift at Sugarloaf Mountain with very little snow It's All Natural

My youth is pocked and peppered with tiny bits of memories of something called "grass skiing." Sometimes I wonder if grass skiing was really a thing at all, or if it was just a dream I once had, or maybe something I saw online. Except it was the 1970s and there was no "online." It might have been an ad in a newspaper, in the sports section or maybe metro, a small rectangle in the corner on the page otherwise devoted to department store bras. In my memory, there's a person in shorts and a t-shirt, holding ski poles and smiling on a mountain bluff, wearing bright green ski boots.

At the time, I was a young skier, willing to believe that I could extend the joys of winter by skiing in the summer. But this didn't look quite like the skiing I was used to, where your boots are strapped onto boards that slide along slippery, cold stuff. The grass skiing I imagined from the ad I saw was more like strapping skateboards to your feet and rolling in the weeds helmet-free, a recreational sport seemingly designed to wreck knees and cause heads to make contact with large rocks.

I didn't ever ski on grass. I just remember that you could do it at a mountain I frequented in winter, called Labrador.

A recent trip to Sugarbush mountain in Vermont reminded me of grass skiing because although I was there to ski, many of the slopes were covered in carpets of grass rather than snow. The northeast has never had as reliable snow as the Rockies, even when I was skiing in the 1970s, but snow guns help to fill in where mother nature hasn't. You can ski on this fake snow, though it's not quite the same as skiing on the packed powder that forms after white stuff falls from clouds. But one thing you can't do is make snow when the temps are in the 50s. I'll be honest: warm weather in wintertime depresses me, indicating that climatologists haven't been kidding, and that my favorite recreational activity may not survive in these parts past the mid-21st century.

There is still time for this winter to be rescued. Mother Nature could brew up a storm any day, dumping a foot or two of snow on the hills so that the February break isn't a bust. Two big storms is really all we need this year. But in the future, grass skiing may be our best bet. 

Continue reading
  589 Hits

 

 

Daily Haiku

 

Cats oft’ void their guts.

They cough out fur balls. They puke.  

We tread carefully.  

 

College Tuition

We dig ourselves a deep hole

Need a second job.

 

Now that I’m sixty

People think I’m a wise man

Probably, I’m not

 

I’m in my Fifties

But tomorrow I’m Sixty

Will need a sports car

 

My PCP Says

“Keep doin’ what yer doin’”

Prob’ly I should not

 

It’s St. Patrick’s Day

We eat beef that has been corned

Whatever that means

 

Robots and A.I.

I will make use of these soon

To do my taxes

 

Strange Oscar night end

Pacino failed to mention

Best pic nominees

 

Who’s this Katie Britt?

Scary. Wierd. We could have used

A Trigger Warning

 

Subscribe To The Blog

Produce This Audio Play!

Ever wanted to produce a radio play?  Think you have the mettle?  Read on!

Tag Cloud

People I know Knots Belgian Ales The Future Europe Chowder Vaughn Football baseball Sports Psychology Diseases Imaginings Art Pats My Parents Mike Doughty Joan Jett Zoom Dad advice Hot Air Balloon Stories I should write The Past Guns and Ammo Cars coronavirus NFL plan mid-winter vacations Elvis Presley Barber Shops soapbox rantings Them Kids Stairs Golf BB King Mom and Dad Eclipse Allergies Coyotes Putin Music Hawaii Rock Bands Earth Martinis China cornhole Spoon the band Drumming New England My Estate Butterfingers Boston weather Ticketmaster Yeast Reveillon Godfather Weather Texting Things I've done US Senate punk music Climate Change Peacekeeping Canadiana nukes Red Sox Hache Verde Smoke Meat Fiction Roommates I've Had Existential Crisis technology Canada COVID-19 Sports England tambourrine Cornhole star First World Problems Beer Syracuse Marketing Gimmicks Real Estate Bill Monroe vacation Spice Girls Audio Work high winds Audubon Bar Brewing town square Bands I haven't seen Reese's Peanut Butter Cups the sea Advertising Liz Phair midwinter vacations Food Bands I've seen War and Peace Skiing Higher Education Biden Bob Dylan Candy The Old Days Radiohead Bunker When I die seasons COVID NPR gathering throngs Politics As Usual Brain Surgery Accounting Ukraine Plastic College Soul Coughing Theater Eating and Drinking Places I've been to Scotch and Sirloin Tom Waits Head injuries Email acerbic high school principal the future Soup Skating Short Fiction Cats My grandparents curling shoes Bicycles Peter Paul and Mary Soccer Folk Music Bikes Grass Skiing Motorists My sisters Emergencies Dr. Jeckyll and Mr. Hyde Trump Halloween Car Dealerships Royal Stuff 1980s Vaccines Teeth Quebect Christmas Hurricanes Me Bands I've Seen Bodysurfing Snow Guns Communication Channels Mustard Ketchup Big Shoes Religion Good Reads Masks Hand Planes TV Rabbit Hole afterlife Soviet Union Little League Mass General Hospital Sugarbush winter Wind Ice Dancing The future