Where one story ends, another begins.

Three-generation days on the slopes were common with my dad leading the entourage down the hill. We celebrated birthdays and Chanukkah there, and the 4th of July many years. That quality family time was precious. Eventually our kids’ weekend commitments made it too hard to get up there and we sold it. Today another family lives within those four walls and their story continues where ours ended. This brings me comfort when I yearn for the nights where our daughters stood on the deck catching snowflakes on their tongues while wearing pink footie pajamas.