When poet Robert Frost penned his famed verse about coming upon two roads that diverged in a woods and taking the road less traveled — I’m pretty sure he wasn’t cruising 40 mph down a mountain on skis.
In fact since Frost wrote “The Road Not Taken” in 1915 and would have been about 41 years old, he probably stopped and pondered for a moment before taking one prong of the fork in the road. I can attest that of the people who were propelling themselves down the sides of the snow-covered mountain that I was on, only 2 percent were the 16-year-old boys on snow-boards that made their own way through the unplowed tree-filled less- traveled path — and none were writing poetry.
I realized that day that there are two types of people in the world — those that ski 80 mph like a bullet down a mountain and then there are those who ski like me. Seventeen-year-old daughter Phoebe gets in a seated position, tucks her poles under her arms and doesn’t slow down until she sees a chairlift at the bottom of the mountain. I prefer another method — I nonchalantly and in no hurry what-so-ever, ski from one side of the mountain slope to the other, making a slow bric-brac pattern.