Got Snow? Then You Might as Well Have a Snow Ramp

It has snowed almost continually this month, and while many try valiantly and with much cursing to get rid of the stuff, we pile it up in our yard. Today's seven-inch dump is all powder and has added another foot to the height of our snow ramp. My husband, who is Mr. Safety by day (he does outdoor safety for a nearby college), has built an homage to the winter fun gods with nothing more than a snowblower and a shovel: it's the mighty snow ramp.

He practiced last March when it finally snowed here in Maine, and the ramp was such a hit, our younger son spent the summer saying, "I wish it was winter."
"Um, why?" I'd ask because this was the boy who refused to go out the winter he was 2-3.
"Because then daddy can build a snow ramp."
"But it's fun to go swimming isn't it?"
"Yeah, but I like sledding better."

And this year cross country skiing, snoeshowing, and snowboarding too. The five-year-old is giving me tips on how to get down the ramp in a full and upright position: "Bend your knees mom. More." These 44-year-old knees don't bend so well, but I think merely trying this wards off the aging process. I am getting pretty good. I have actually made it down the slope without falling.

I may even have learned how to do a tele-turn, finally, about 14 years after I gave up. It turns out you're supposed to not only bend one knee, but also put weight on the other ski. Who knew. That might have saved me the hip-to-knee bruising I used to endure while trying to learn this style of skiing.

Our older son even got out his new downhill skis and learned some skiing basics (snowplow, turn) with dad pulling him back up with an old rock climbing rope. We call it the daddy rope tow.

Yes, the ski ramp. Endless hours of fun and free entertainment. All you need is a little snow (OK, a lot), a snowblower, a shovel and a husband with imagination.

The Maine Idea

I like to play with words, I live in Maine and I've been known to have a few ideas. Hence Julia's Maine Ideas. It's not because I speak for the great state of Maine--far from it. Though often a tolerant state (the guy who threatened the Bangor NAACP notwithstanding--he's a crackpot), I tend to lean a wee bit further to the left than many. That's why they're my Maine ideas.

This afternoon I realized this month marks my 20th anniversary in the state and I happened to be down in Portland where it all began. I felt like a young single thing again when my friend K indulged my secret-flat-in-the-city fantasy with her housesitting gig. I could picture myself in my apartment on Morning Street with the winter view of the water and the green tiled fireplace that drew so poorly an upstairs neighbor gave us his boy scout manual when we smoked him out. The leaking windows made the curtains move inside and you had to sit on the old steam radiators to get warm. God, I miss that place. My biggest decisions were stay or go, takeout or cook, hike or ski, beach or mountains. And yet, I wouldn't trade what I have now for a minute of those days. I moved to Maine knowing only one person here and made a life for myself.

Here in central Maine, I teach fifth grade with all of its bipolar highs and lows. The best of times the worst of times. The agony and the ecstacy. If you have ever taught you know what I mean. I have a fabulous husband and two fantastic monkeys who impersonate my kids. We have a priceless view of the western mountains, gardens, and currently a giant ski ramp in the front yard. More on that in another post.

This blog will include lots of rambling commentary on all manner of things including my knitting projects, bird sightings, teaching struggles and triumphs, my family, and things that bend me out of shape. Hey, it's a presidential election year. I'll probably get pissed. I might write about writing too. I supposedly am writing a children's book after spending the past few years dabbling in romance (I haven't completely given up on that, but my writing time is non-existant so a children's book seems more manageable). I also write for a college magazine now and then.

And that's it for this inaugural address.

Happy New Year.
Julia