Stasia on snowshoes

Winter, no, Spring Storm Ultima dumped about four inches of fresh powder atop a solid, six-inch crust, and my granddaughter Stasia, here to celebrate her fifth birthday, and I knew just what to do about what some anguished folks were calling the last straw. I'd picked up a set of kid-sized used snowshoes for her at the annual REI yardsale, and she was eager to try them out. There was no learning curve—Stasia was a natural—and no sooner had I strapped her into the shoes and showed her how to use the "sticks"—what she called her poles—she was off, with me following close behind as we charged into the woods. Two hours, a couple of miles, several hill climbs and descents, and a stream crossing and re-crossing later, we reluctantly came home so she could change into party clothes. We soon decided against that plan, opting instead to bring the snowshoes with us and show off at the party headquarters... then change. Good idea.