By Merisa Sherman We were lost. Well, not quite. I guess it would depend on your definition of lost. If it meant that we had no specific idea where we were or that we weren’t exactly where we thought we would be, then I guess you could say we were lost. But then again, if…

By Merisa Sherman It’s cold. And not just a little bit cold but the kind of cold where you can put your hand on the wall of your house and feel the outside seeping in. It’s the kind of cold where you learn all the little cracks and crevices that will need to be re-caulked…

“Another green sign!” Four-year-old Jude yells into the wind, pointing excitedly with his hand. He darts across the trail, making his way straight to the next trail marker. He stops, his little wedge still a bit shaky but allowing him to make his way, and stares up at the sign. As I pull my skis…

By Merisa Sherman I keep moving. I can feel my ski slide underneath me as I collapse onto my front leg. With each stride, I move forward, onward and upward through the darkness. I swing my left hip forward, feeling the resistance of my skins as I drag my ski along the snow. Paying close…

By Merisa Sherman It’s chaos. Between the chairlift motors and the crowds, the noise is almost deafening. As we ski along, we are focused on the turns of all those with whom we are sharing the trail and attempting to anticipate their movements. In a split second, we must judge the downhill skier in front…

By Merisa Sherman It happened on a bluebird day in March, as we were descending from the summit of Mt. Washington. We watched as an old mountaineer stepped out of the clouds below, diligently following the rocky, snow covered trail. He walked slowly, the long wooden handle of his mountaineering axe serving more like a…

By Merisa Sherman As V.A.S.T. (Vermont Association of Snow Travelers) opening weekend approached, there was an admission of defeat. While I was stoked to pick up the sled from her annual maintenance check late Wednesday evening, there was no thought in our minds that we’d be making our way through the Vermont mountains. Instead, we…

By Merisa Sherman There is no time that simply awes like the first few days of winter settling into itself. Those snow covered days are plump and luscious, the beautiful fluffy world that we dream of when we say “powder day.” We imagine being wrapped in blankets, snuggled by the fire with a hot chocolate…

By Merisa Sherman As a child, Christmas in our house was absolutely perfect – and was always a party.  Friends and family would gather, Christmas music would be blaring and trays of hors d’oeuvres were placed in different rooms as there were always too many people to squish into the one room where everyone wanted…

By Merisa Sherman We arrived at the boat launch with the best on intentions. It was Thanksgiving and we wanted to do all our favorite activities before settling down to eat as much food as humanly possible. The idea was to sneak in a quick lap around the pond on our way up to go…

By Merisa Sherman After 252 days, Killington Resort finally reopened to the public for skiing and riding this past weekend. For so many reasons, there was absolutely no place else that we have wanted to be for the past eight months, to remember the feeling our skis and boards gliding underneath us as we meander…

By Merisa Sherman We pulled into an empty parking lot and raced down to the water, amazed that we are even still paddling this late in November. The BF unstrapped the canoe in record time while I grabbed our dry bags and paddles from the back seat. We could see the sky begin to hint…

By Merisa Sheman The yard was covered in white. I mean, really covered in white. It wasn’t that pathetic little amount that we got on the first snowfall last week where you talk yourself into thinking that there’s probably enough snow to ski some laps around the yard before the snow is all gone. This…

By Merisa Sherman It has snowed before and it will snow again. As the world swirls around us like snowflakes in a mid-winter storm, I find comfort in these words. I find that I repeat them to myself, like a comforting mantra, while I focus on my breathing. I let the words wrap around me…

By Merisa Sherman Anticipation coincides with the rumble of the engine, as you switch from the pavement onto one of Vermont’s gravel roads. It’s past foliage, so reddish-brown leaves line the sides of the road like a rural sidewalk. Or it’s late spring and the leaves are their brightest green, weighing down the branches as…