Florida Girl does Winter

Reared in the panhandle of Florida, my concept of cold has always been that it's temporary. 

I'm prepared for heat. I tend to wear one layer, bring a jacket. A hat and gloves are a nusence and a scarf is for Europeans, city folk, mountain people. Then. I learned to ski.

Skiing requires base layers of long underwear, balaclavas, glove liners, fleece pullovers, hand warmers, and an awareness that all of this gear must be applied, zipped, and strategically maneuvered to limit skin exposure and insure maximum warmth before you even step outside. 

I'm forever sure it won't be cold enough, really I can't imagine it will actually be that cold. I leave off layers that I soon regret or walk onto lifts with my clothing partially assembled having to clip, zip, and tug it while exposing my hands to the windchill and loosing body heat I can't regain on a mountain top.

I manage a few runs despite numb fingers and thumbs that throb and ache because I love the trees sparkling with ice and that the sunlight bounces off the snow in an over exuberant fashion. Maybe it was all the hurricanes in my youth, but I love to see the wind whipping snow with force and drama. 

It's below zero on that mountain, my toes are purple, I'm wishing for heated gloves, but it's beautiful. The snow and light are dancing, the trees are frosted.  I am not in Florida anymore. 

Reared in the panhandle of Florida, my concept of cold has always been that it's temporary. 

I'm prepared for heat. I tend to wear one layer, bring a jacket. A hat and gloves are a nusence and a scarf is for Europeans, city folk, mountain people. Then. I learned to ski.

Skiing requires base layers of long underwear, balaclavas, glove liners, fleece pullovers, hand warmers, and an awareness that all of this gear must be applied, zipped, and strategically maneuvered to limit skin exposure and insure maximum warmth before you even step outside. 

I'm forever sure it won't be cold enough, really I can't imagine it will actually be that cold. I leave off layers that I soon regret or walk onto lifts with my clothing partially assembled having to clip, zip, and tug it while exposing my hands to the windchill and loosing body heat I can't regain on a mountain top.

I manage a few runs despite numb fingers and thumbs that throb and ache because I love the trees sparkling with ice and that the sunlight bounces off the snow in an over exuberant fashion. Maybe it was all the hurricanes in my youth, but I love to see the wind whipping snow with force and drama. 

It's below zero on that mountain, my toes are purple, I'm wishing for heated gloves, but it's beautiful. The snow and light are dancing, the trees are frosted.  I am not in Florida anymore.