My husband’s step-family has a wonderful tradition called ‘Winterfest.’
Essentially, we get together somewhere with an expansive outdoor area, and spend hours drifting between sleds, four-wheelers, bonfires and tables of food and drink. It’s awesome.
At my first Winterfest in 2009, I forgot that I wasn’t 10 years old, and ripped the knees of my mom’s old snowpants when I tumbled during a rousing game of “Wolf.” I also ate squirrel. It was good – tasted like chicken.
This year, we gathered on the family’s 80 acre “resort,” which is actually the recently (officially) acquired plot of land, lake and cabins that the group has frequented as renters since the 1950s. The weather was perfect for it – cool and snowy but mild enough for us to spend a few hours by the frozen lake. Iris and I took a couple trips around the ice behind a four-wheeler, during which she uttered numerous “Whoa”s.
I still prefer the lake in the summer. And the cabins (dormant plumbing = communal bucket). But we had a wonderful weekend, rounding out the cold with the pool and card games at the hotel. Already looking forward to next year!
