January 8, 2018 There was a time when big storms howled up the coast, took a northeast spin around Cape Cod and then dumped a shit-ton of snow on our little New Hampshire mountain. And when the warnings were dire my boy Nolan and I headed out. Nolan was a burly lad with a matching spirit. We hit the forest, slogging our way up the North Pack Trail. Just a ten-year old and his pops leaning into the storm.
There now seems to be a collective hysteria regarding storms. TV weather people and governors urge us to “shelter in place” when the snow tickles our ankles. It is said so often that the concept has become diluted. We are no longer embarrassed by our easy surrender to this collective retreat. And I will admit, leaning out instead of leaning in makes some sense. For blizzards, active shooters, Imperial IPA’s, and icy sidewalks I will hunker down. When the gale snap limbs, the bear snuffles out back, and one Margarita becomes another, I choose watching over playing. Being safe and warm sharpens the eye. The world is pretty incredible on the other side of the glass.