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Cross-country skiing

On Flourish

I'm shocked at how my perspective can change. I moved to Wisconsin over ten years ago and immediately started complaining about the weather. Though Iowa has winters, they aren't as long, and I keenly felt every extra day up here. However, I did enjoy a few opportunities to get out and cross-country ski in my first five years here. I had some great times with friends and was moderately ok at it. I always enjoyed it.

I had had an early introduction to skiing. When I was about ten years old, my dad rented skis for us kids. We practiced in the backyard, fell down a lot, and then headed to..Yellowstone, in the middle of winter. It is a premier cross-country ski location. The Old Faithful lodge remains open, though we had to take a special track-equipped van to get there. Dad has acknowledged that some mistakes were made in planning that trip; it was a little above our abilities. Being the oldest, it was pretty good for me. I loved the adventure and even got accustomed to having a hotel room with <gasp> no TV. The lodge was beautiful and the hot-spring and geyser features of the park even more so. </gasp>

One of my favorite memories is from our first practice ski in Yellowstone. My youngest sister had skied up a hill, and then turned back to me and waved that I should not come up and that I should be quiet. Of course, I charged up shouting at her. When I got to the top, though, I saw the reason she was genuinely concerned. There was a herd of about fifty buffalo in the snow, a hundred feet away. It was quite a sight. We watched for a couple of seconds and then crept quietly back down the hill.

One of my Wisconsin friends actually said that she preferred the winter to the summer, because of the snow for cross-country skiing. She would cheer when an April snowstorm arrived because it meant a few more days of skiing. I thought she was crazy.

46. The Village Near The Border

On 365days 100words

There is a village twenty minutes from Lahore. It has not more than four hundred residents and three dogs. One of them is Rostam, who hides in the fields. As you walk by, the wind threatening to throw you off balance, he rushes out and jumps you. In a friendly way. On the first floor of a small bungalow is a reading room. Its meshed windows, big as doors, look out on miles of green, with a well in the centre. The shelves, stacked with autograph editions of Wodehouse, have dust fingerprints that have been there for many a year. I'm sure.

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