Showing posts with label cross-country skiing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cross-country skiing. Show all posts

December 14, 2015

December 2, 2015

February 3, 2015

January 27, 2015

Back at the Cottage


Door County, Wisconsin, January 1978. Dad has finished the round and returns to the spot from which he started.

February 15, 2014

Enjoy the snow.


Door County, Wisconsin, March 1980. Dad's heading up South Sand Bay Lane, and Gigi is not far behind him.

January 31, 2014

The Frozen Lake, in Three Takes

Ice today covers 62% of Lake Michigan. The lake experienced similar conditions in 1979.

Don't panic. Instead, relax and embrace the normal.


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Door County, Wisconsin, February 1979. Mom skis the Lake-Michigan shoreline along Sand Bay.

December 13, 2013

Ski as along as there's snow.


Penza, Russian Soviet Socialist Republic, April 1965. Natasha, one of the two younger sisters of my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, continues to ski.

February 1, 2013

January 22, 2013

Supervised Snow Play


Downers Grove, Illinois, February 1962. My Mom and a friend watch over us. I later continued skiing.

Skiing in Russia


Penza, Russian Soviet Socialist Republic, January, 1964. Natasha, one of the two younger sisters of my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, cross-country skis.

January 7, 2013

Winter Ready


Penza, Russian Soviet Socialist Republic, February 1960. Natasha, one of the two younger sisters of my paternal Grandmother, Tatjana, wrote, "To dear Tanechka. See how much snow we have. Snow has covered the entire veranda."

Thanks to my friend, D, for translating the text from Russian to English.

January 4, 2013

It must have been warm because Dad didn't wear a hat.


Door County, Wisconsin, March 1978. Dad's about to engage in his favorite sport. The Lake Michigan shoreline appears in the background.

December 23, 2012

It's never too late to learn something new.


Door County, Wisconsin, February 1979. My Dad taught Mom how to cross-country ski the same year he taught her how to ride a bicycle. I remember the mid- to late 1970s—when my Parents became "empty nesters"—as truly happy years for them.

Dad wears his beret and one of the many zippered cardigans Mom knitted for him. Mom "frogged" the piece some years after Dad died, and she reknitted the yarn into a lovely sweater for me. I wore it a couple of days ago.