This weekend was a snow weekend. I trundled up the mountain with these four (pictured above) to a little lodge named Trollhagen for a day or two of cross country skiing, good food, reading, hot tubbing, and sleeping in a loft.
We learned the real meaning of skiing cross country when we lost the tracks, our energy, moral, and any signage marking the presence of civil society for an hour or so - but eventually we glided (glid?) back into known territory, moral was restored, and our little taste of adventure went down real well with the pasta and pie that came after.
There is nothing that makes a body more content than being worn out, warm, and fed, with the prospect of having nothing else to do but cuddle up with a book.