Tag Archives: Family

The Little Yellow Sweater

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I first set eyes on the little yellow sweater over 40 years ago. We were expecting our first child, and Rich’s mom got it out of storage and gave it to us. It was tiny, hand knit with extra fine yarn and tied in front with two white satin ribbons. Rich and his two brothers had worn it home from the hospital – way back in 1953, 1956 and 1959. It was such a treasure, laden with family history, just as my dad’s baptismal gown has been.

Karen was the first of the second generation to wear the sweater in 1984. As proud new parents, we were excited to dress her in the sweater, take pictures and buckle her into the car seat wearing the sweater. Carl came next, two and a half years later. Out came the sweater again, and he too wore it home. After each child I carefully packed it away, so when Erik was due to arrive in 1990, I pulled it out, ironed the ribbons and put it in my hospital bag. Apparently, he and Carl dressed alike for their trips home!

Karen 1984
Carl 1986
Erik 1990

The sweater took a long hiatus as our family grew up, but when the time came, I knew right where to find it. The little yellow sweater was moving on down to the third generation! Karen gave us our first grandchild, Ben, in 2010 – such an exciting moment! And it was all the more precious when she too dressed her first child in the little yellow sweater. Mya followed just 22 months later, and she also donned the sweater.

Ben 2010
Mya 2012

Next the sweater found its way to Carl’s house for his first born. Maren wore it home in 2017.

Maren 2017

To be clear, we don’t have a perfect record here. Somehow the sweater missed the latter two babies in Karen and Carl’s families. But who’s counting? The fact that at least one child in each family works for me. And after all, we all know that life gets more complicated as the family grows.

In fact, with the impending arrival of Erik and Katie’s first child, I almost forgot about the little yellow sweater! It suddenly dawned on me when we were visiting them for Christmas that I had neglected to bring it to them. With their due date looming just weeks away, when we got home I wasted no time going straight to the box where I kept it, only go find it empty! How could it be? How could I have let it stray? I racked my brain for memories of which grandchild had worn it last. I dug through my photo files to see when I last had a picture of it. All to no avail. Frantic texts to Karen and Carl initiated immediate searches, but it didn’t turn up. I too looked high and low in our house with no luck. And then it came. A text from Karen – “I found it!” She mailed it to Erik and Katie in Seattle, arriving shortly before the impending due date. Whew!

Saige joined the line of models for the sweater, wearing it home just over a week ago.

Saige 2025

On a side note, I should explain the presence of the bears. On the day each of our children was born, Rich went out and bought them a bear. It stems from his own Tommy Bear that he received as a baby, and still has. That too is a tradition that has been passed down. I don’t have a picture of Rich in the sweater, so Tommy Bear will have to do!

It remains to be seen whether another grandchild will wear the little yellow sweater. But I have to admit, I hope it makes it down to the 4th generation!

Continuing the Tradition

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I’m up to 12 yards of snuggly fleece fabric. That’s what it takes to outfit 8 grandchildren and 8 stuffy friends in Grammy Jammies. Along with 10 solid days of sitting in front of my sewing machine. But the smiles on the kids’ faces and the love that it brings make it all worth it.

It’s no surprise any more. After 15 years, they come to expect the Jammies, and I love that they do. This year the guesses began in September. “What color will they be this year?” By then the fabric was already stockpiled in my sewing area. But they know better than to expect me to answer. My friends also quiz me on the progress, awaiting the unveiling of each year’s model.

October was serious production month. It started with cutting out all the pieces – the most tedious part of the project, in my opinion. I’m always relieved when I know I have enough fabric. Serious sewing came next. I’m in my own zone when I’m in that mode, ticking off the jammies day by day. Meals and sewing dominate my days, along with easy listening audio books.

Grammy Jammies always come in the same cloth Christmas bags. They were a gift from a dear friend years ago, and I made more to accommodate the growing population.

By the end of the month all was in readiness, at least for Round 1. Kid jammies are delivered around Thanksgiving so they can wear them leading up to Christmas. I was fortunate to find a time when our whole family gathered in November for a baby shower for Erik and Katie, who are expecting their first child in January. Naturally, Baby Girl had to have her first pair of Grammy Jammies!

Round 2 is shorter, as the jammies are a fraction of the size. But they still entail all the detail work of the larger model. Friend Jammies are my special addition, and arrive at Christmas.

And yes, Baby Girl got a new Friend too!

Isabel has already put in her order for next year. “No feet next time.” At 9 she’s migrating toward the next stage. It starts with dropping the slipper feet, then moves on to Jammy Pants. I’m fine with that. Kids grow up, and if that’s what it takes to continue the tradition, I’m all in!

The Holiday Spirit

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After a tumultuous year, I was determined to make the most of the Christmas offerings this month.  For me, it signaled a return to normalcy, and was a celebration of health. 

I kicked off the season with Bentleyville.  That was a huge draw for our grandchildren, and I made two separate trips there with them, relishing their excitement and wonder.  The lights and music never cease to lift my spirits, and I delighted in the new technology fueling the soaring tree with creative designs that changed with the music.  We even happened upon “Mayor Bentley” and had a fascinating conversation with the founder of this light display.

My sister, Susie, and I took in Julebyen, a Nordic Christmas Village with cute little outdoor market stalls offering crafts, food, and friendly sellers.  Big tents offer entertainment, more vendors of handmade goods, and some protection from the cold wind.  All with a prominent Nordic flair.

After an absence of several years, largely due to bad weather for travel, once again Rich and I ventured over to Plummer, Minnesota to see the Holiday Train.  Canadian Pacific Railroad has sent a train across Canada and another in the US for the past 26 years, benefiting food shelves in every community they visit.  The brilliantly decorated rail cars move from town to town, with stops to present top talent in a live musical tribute to Christmas.  The train is best seen at night when its lights illuminate the darkness.  There is nothing like seeing the train approach in all its glory.  This year we convinced friends to join us, and we topped off the evening with a classic bar and grill dinner and staying in a motel that is a converted old-folks home – seemingly a good joke on us.

I insisted that Rich and I resurrect our tradition of attending some kind of Christmas concert, which started when our kids were in high school then college choirs.  This year I chose something different, Mr. Sun Performs Nutcracker Suite.  It’s a string quartet but of a different nature, comprised of string bass, acoustic guitar, mandolin and fiddle.  Performing in the beautiful Sacred Heart church building, their unique take on the traditional melodies was constantly surprising.  From jazz to bluegrass and a nod to improvisation each piece was intriguing.  Sometimes it took me well into the tune to finally discern the familiar melody!  Even though it wasn’t my usual cup of tea, I enjoyed the uniqueness and challenge to my musical ear.  And the subtle humor of individual band members who chatted informally along the way gave me pause to grin and laugh.

Susie and I are ushers for the Duluth Playhouse, and I prodded her to sign up as soon as the schedule for the holiday performance of Cinderella came out.  The shows were packed, and we greeted countless theater goers at the door to check them in, finding a few familiar faces in the crowd.  It was my first time ushering since my surgery, and it felt so good to be back in circulation.  I was pleased that I lasted the 5+ hours of duty that ended long after my new bedtime.  And the play and its performers were amazing.  I do love theater, particularly musical theater, and must make an effort to resume attending.

On the domestic side, my good friend Julie and I got together for our long standing tradition of making candy cane cookies together. It all started in junior high when I joined Julie and her mom for this annual baking fest.  Julie and I struggled to match the perfection of her mom’s beautifully formed candy canes, while her mom diligently tended the oven.  She’d take them out just as the edges showed a hint of browning and carefully transfer them to racks where she’d sprinkle the crushed candy cane and sugar mix on top.  Over time, we brought our own daughters into the fold, and smiled to see them struggle as we once did.  Distance and busy family lives put this activity on hold for many years, but this year we vowed to resume it.  Once again we struggled with the cookie dough, and I insisted Julie take her mom’s place at the oven (to spare myself the fear of messing up!).  We produced a credible if less than perfect assortment of cookies, pleased with our effort regardless.  Just to prove we have mellowed over the years.  It was a morning filled with memories and the warmth of long friendship.  And we are already planning to do it again next year.

With less than a week to go now, I am looking forward to celebrating Christmas with Erik and Katie in Seattle, followed by mini-Christmas exchanges with our other two kids and their families in early January.  Filled with the holiday spirit.

Tackling Lopez Island

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It’s finally time to break the silence. I’m sad to say this poor blog has been neglected while I took a time-out to focus my writing on CaringBridge to chronicle my cancer journey. It filled a need, to be able to focus on coming to grips with cancer, healing from surgery, and working my way through chemotherapy. But even more so to process my feelings, share my experiences, and connect with a caring community that supported me all along the way. I invite any of you to read my story and posts here.

Throughout this time I’ve continued to be as active as possible, first doing a lot of walking then adding cycling, gradually working back up to regular 25-mile rides up the shore. So when I was planning my trip out to Seattle to visit my son Erik and his wife Katie, I couldn’t help but think about last year when Erik and I cycled all of Orcas Island in the San Juan Islands. At the time, we pondered riding on Lopez Island next time, a prospect that loomed large as I packed. Could I manage it now? It had the advantage of being smaller and less hilly than Orcas, and I craved the opportunity to return to some adventure in my life.

Not only was Erik game, but he proposed an add-on. “Why don’t we go over the day before and camp overnight?” We arrived on the ferry in the late afternoon and made our way to Spencer Spit State Park. We had reserved a walk-in site on the beach, and oh what a gem! The local currents had created a sandy triangular spit of land that stretched across the gap almost to Frost Island. There was a log structure out near the end, and a pool of water in the interior. We quickly dropped our gear and set out to explore. We learned that the shape of the spit changes with the currents, but will never reach the far island due to the strong current in the channel.

We admired the sun setting over the trees behind us, then returned to our campsite to set up and make dinner before it got dark. The meal was extra tasty, as it always is in the simplicity off the outdoors with a tent. We bedded down with the lights of yachts bobbing on buoys just beyond our shore and the sound of waves lightly lapping.

Morning brought fog. After a hot breakfast and camp coffee, we packed up and stashed our gear in the car. As last year, our goal was to cover as much of the island as possible, and reach the shore on every side. We had found good cycling maps online that showed us the amount of traffic on each road and whether it had shoulders or not. We aimed to ride the quieter roads, that reached the extremities of the island.

Setting out, the fog was so dense that it obliterated all scenery. Looking out at the water was like seeing a white wall! From the park we crossed over to the east side of the island then headed south through Lopez Village and into more rural landscape. There were numerous farms (surprising to us – who farms on an island?), unique house architectures, and a flavor of laid back island life. Just 7 miles along, my back tire went flat. Erik changed the tube like a pro, and we were on our way again in short order.

We made our way to the southern peninsula of the island, out to Agate Beach where we reached the end of the road for the first time. We’d hoped to get out to Iceberg Point, but it was off limits to bicycles, so we made do with a picnic lunch overlooking Mackaye Harbor. Close up we could see boats anchored, but the fog obscured what we soon learned was a huge rocky outcropping beyond. Fortunately, starting then, the fog began to lift. We could still see it lurking in low-lying areas, but it soon became sunny and warm – a beautiful afternoon!

We tootled around that lower bulb of the island for much of the afternoon, exploring each small road until we could go no further. More than once we hit private land short of the shore. I hesitated at the top of a very steep hill, knowing that if I went down I’d have to come back up again. But the adventurers in us enticed us forward, only to find a dirt road not far beyond! We navigated that as well to reach a glass-walled modern mansion in the distance beyond the No Trespassing signs. And for the record, I did walk my bike back up that hill! It was well worth it though, for the quiet, woodsy small roads we traveled.

We had made plans to take the 4:15 ferry back that afternoon, and after checking the time we decided we needed to beat it back to the car. So we took the main road up the center of the island, which turned out to be fine despite its high traffic designation. We got back to the car with time to change out of our cycling clothes and mount the bikes on the car rack and head to the ferry. But we were mystified to find ourselves first in line for the ferry. It just didn’t feel right. Inquiring at the office, we learned that the 4:15 was strictly a walk-on ferry! Only then did it dawn on us that we’d picked that ferry in the early stages of planning when we didn’t expect to bring the car over. Oops!

We had plenty of time to kill before the 6:20 ferry, so we headed into Lopez Village where we loaded up on charcuterie items and headed out to Otis Perkins Day Park where we planted ourselves on a big log on the beach. There we were content to sit, soak up the sun, enjoy our little feast and take in the views of San Juan Island across the water – the very sights we’d missed in the morning fog.

We easily made the next ferry and enjoyed the setting sun as we motored back toward home. Feeling the sun’s still-warm rays, it was easy to bask in the warm glow of another successful island cycling trip. We covered 36 miles, hit all the coasts and saw the island in both fog and sunshine. What’s more, I did it – my body held up, I felt great pedaling through the miles, and relished the whole adventure. Leaving cancer behind. And the mother/son moments were priceless.

Of course, now we’ve set our sights on San Juan Island…

Channeling my Mom

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“Maren has asked for an American Girl doll for Christmas.” 

The words immediately transported me back to when the coveted dolls were new, and we bought the Molly doll for our daughter, Karen. She came with her own book Meet Molly, wore glasses, had long dark braids, and a World War II background. The dolls had extensive accessories and wardrobes you could buy, but being a frugal parent I zeroed in on the sewing patterns they also offered.

“Mom, do you think you could make an outfit for Molly?” She was an excellent seamstress, and I knew she’d take up the challenge, but I didn’t anticipate the extent to which she would go. She made not only one, but all six outfits included in the package.

I was pretty sure I had those patterns. When we cleared out Mom’s house after she died, I collected many of her sewing tools. Sure enough, I found the packet squirreled away in my sewing cupboard – a treasured prize. These patterns were not for the faint of heart. They included elaborate instructions for tailored clothes, but that didn’t phase me. I already had my own designs in mind for Maren’s doll, but needed a guide to size and fit.

For further assistance, I asked Karen if I might borrow Molly to use as a model. So Molly came for a visit at Thanksgiving to help me in my task.

My vision was to start with fabric scraps from outfits that I had made for Maren and other grandchildren. I chose a knit dress and the summer jammies I made for all of them. I spent hours measuring Molly, cobbling pattern pieces together, drawing my own patterns, sewing sample pieces and trying them on her. I could feel Mom at my side, handling the same paper pattern pieces she had used, reading the same instructions and translating them into completed outfits. Like hers, it was a labor of love.

In time I got the hang of it, and completed two outfits, pleased with my first attempts.

But what is Christmas without Grammy Jammies? You guessed it, it was time to make the 21st pair of Jammies this year.

It turns out that a doll is a lot less forgiving than children or stuffies. American Girl dolls are amazingly flexible, but that only goes so far. Getting the proportions right was trickier than I expected, but after some trial and error I had a credible pair of jammies for Maren’s doll. Perhaps you spotted her in my last Jammie post, where she snuck into the pictures from Christmas.

But that wasn’t the end of the story. Maren’s birthday falls right after Christmas, so I had one more project up my sleeve. Resurrecting and modifying the girl’s dress pattern I’d used before I fashioned matching outfits for Maren and her doll. Once again, I felt Mom looking over my shoulder, approving of going above and beyond. Of making the most of my sewing skills and the satisfaction of seeing them delight a little girl.

Maren and her doll had the good fortune to attend a tea party at the American Girl doll store in Chicago with her other grandma, as well as her Mom and Aunt with their own American Girl dolls. It filled my heart to see Maren and her doll wearing their matching outfits for that big outing.

Mom would have loved it.

Life Interrupted

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This post is not about the 21st set of Grammy Jammies. It was supposed to be, and I promise to get back to that story. But life has taken a sudden turn, and I need to take a short time-out.

I might as well get right to the bottom line. Ten days ago I had surgery that revealed I have stage-3 ovarian cancer that has spread to the lymph nodes. In addition to healing from that extensive ordeal, I am preparing to begin chemotherapy in a few weeks. The good news is that I am healing well at home now and making good progress. And I have felt the warmth and support flooding in from family and friends. It’s a new journey for me, but I feel ready to take it on.

I gave CaringBridge only a passing thought initially. That couldn’t really be for me. Those are really serious cases. Well, maybe that does describe me. But as time went by I began to experience the strong desire to keep those loyal friends and family informed. My brain swirled trying to keep track. Who did I tell what? When did I last update them? Did I send them that photo? I felt a shift. I could keep everyone updated at once. Send them to the single source of information. I’m in!

So I encourage you to visit my CaringBridge site here. I have posted several journal entries to catch folks up on the journey, so be sure to click on the Journal icon to get the full story (or follow this link) and scroll down. Note: You will need a CaringBridge account to access the site.

Meanwhile, I will work on getting back to that Grammy Jammie post.

Grammy Jammies Times 21

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I’m now in my 14th year of creating Grammy Jammies. The grandkids wait with eager expectation at Thanksgiving time, knowing I will bring out the fabric bags that contain the newest iteration of Christmas fleece and footies. ”What color do you think they will be?” they wondered this year, inventorying all the past colors and designs. I never give away my secrets.

It’s a joyful mayhem, untying the bags, pulling out the contents and rushing off to don the new soft Jammies and present us with a style show. Karen’s kids were at our house for the festivities. Ben and Mya have self-selected out of the footies by now, but still willingly sport matching jammy pants.

Unwilling to miss the fun at Carl’s house, I made a special trip to Milwaukee for the presentation. I barely got in the door before they clamored for the bags. There’s nothing like hugging wiggly laughing grandkids in fleece.

That brought the tally to 7.

Not one to shirk my duties, I continued on to outfit the furry friends as usual. Many of them are the same shape and size, and thankfully they do not grow or change from year to year! I can dash off at least two of those in a day.

Now I was up to 14.

But this year there was more. After at least a year of not so subtle hints from the parents, I took on the challenge to outfit them as well. Even though jammy pants are naturally loose and baggy, I found that fitting adults was trickier than the forgiving slipper jammies on the kids. Especially when compounded by a rather outdated pattern that assumed we still wore pants up to our natural waistline! So I took a graduated approach, making two pair at a time, altering them after try-on sessions, and learning as I went.

Karen and Matt were my first guinea pigs, and thankfully they took my outlandish productions with a great deal of humor and good sportsmanship.

For the record, I managed to tame their pants down to more reasonable proportions.

I arrived at Carl and Chelsea’s house equipped with sewing machine and measuring tools. Fortunately, my latest revisions served me well, and their jammy pants required just minor adjustments.

By the time I got to Erik and Katie, I had the process down to a system and quickly modified theirs to fit.

The good news is that I now have six individualized patterns that should suit everyone for future years!

So that brings the total to 20 pairs of jammies this year. A credible effort, and weeks of fun in the process. But wait, the title says 21! 

Ah yes. Stay tuned for the next blog post to reveal the finale. (And no, I’d never get Rich to wear jammy pants!)

Orcas Island by Bicycle

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“It’s not that hilly, Mom.” I should have known better. In all the years of bike touring I did with Rich, we learned to never trust a motorist to give us directions. “Just down the road” may be hours of cycling for us. They don’t feel a headwind, and hills just mean pressing the accelerator a bit harder.

Erik and I had both been to Orcas Island in the San Juan Islands before, but only by car. When I arrived in Seattle to visit him and Katie, he was keen for an adventure. “Let’s bike Orcas Island!” My memory included hills, but I willingly quashed the image.

That just left the weather. In typical Seattle fashion, there was plenty of rain in the forecast. Comparing different weather apps only proved it was a complete unknown, so we caved to our inner explorers and set our plan in motion. Rising at 4:30am to reach the ferry in time for a 7:30 crossing, we sped through the dark in eager anticipation. The sun was just clearing the trees as we boarded the ferry in Anacortes, which we took to be a good omen for the day ahead.

As if to reinforce my premonitions, the road rose steeply from the ferry landing. I had borrowed Katie’s bike, shoes, pedals and helmet for this outing. Normally not a big deal, but this was a road bike – drop handlebars and all, which I’d never ridden in my life. Struggling to clip into the unfamiliar pedals, find the gear shifters and figure out which was which, I floundered immediately and ground to a halt. Relieved that I didn’t fall, I walked the bike a short distance to the first flatish spot to begin again. I took off from there, and never looked back.

Our plan was to bike the island – all of it. We’d cover all the paved roads we could before the 5:15 return ferry. Our first priority was to bike out to the far end of the sound and down to the tip on the far side of the inverted U-shaped island. Full of ambition and energy we tackled the hilly terrain.

Away from town, the countryside was quiet and rural, varying from farms and pastureland to forested byways. Pausing briefly in Eastsound Village to take in the view, we pushed on to the opposite side, eager to get more miles under our belts.

At Obstruction Pass near the tip we took time to venture out the long pier, soaking up the calm surroundings and serene view. Little was stirring – some children in a kayak, a fisherman docking his boat. It felt far removed from the season of high tourism, reclaimed by the locals.

Retracing the road north, we ventured off to follow smaller roads to the east. With each turn we left behind more cars and population, eventually reaching a quiet harbor at Kangaroo Point. Breakfast was a distant memory so we dropped our bikes on the grass and perched on a huge tree stump to pull out our sandwiches. Time easily slipped away as we refueled and relished the sunshine and undisturbed view.

Determined to explore it all, on our way back to Eastsound we made a short detour to the top of the island to peer out toward the water on that side. Then a long-anticipated stop at Brown Bear Baking for lattes and a blueberry tart to energize us for our final leg.

With clouds gathering overhead, we forged on toward Deer Harbor on the west arm. Just as the raindrops began to fall, a large parking lot materialized and we quickly stopped to don our rain jackets. Undeterred, we pushed on, determined to complete our tour. The road followed the shoreline, both flattening out slightly and giving us wet views of West Sound and a marina populated with sailboats. When we reached the Deer Harbor Inn just short of town, we did a time check. “I’m not sure there’s a later ferry,” Erik admitted. Calling it good enough, we turned around and pushed our pedals back toward the ferry landing. Sailing down that final steep hill, we could see the ferry chugging up to the dock.

I can now say with confidence that Orcas Island is indeed VERY hilly. Each downhill came with the guarantee of an uphill to follow, and visa versa. But I wouldn’t have changed a thing. It was worth every ounce of effort to spend the day with Erik, to share the unrelenting ups and downs, to brave the not-so-bad rainfall, to sit side by side munching on sandwiches.

Now we’re eyeing the other islands…

Christmas in July

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I couldn’t get the idea out of my head. I knew it would take a lot of ingenuity, time and patience but I just had to do it.

A year and a half ago we made reservations to rent out a whole resort on Lake Vermilion for a family vacation. It’s a small place, and although we only needed four cabins we rented all five so that we could have the place all to ourselves. Just coordinating the work schedules, family plans and kid activities to find a mutual week for ourselves, our three kids, spouses and seven grandkids was daunting, but we finally agreed on the week of the 4th of July, 2023. The idea that each family would have their own space appealed to everyone, and as the summer began the excitement ratcheted up.

Knowing those seven kids would all be together, mingling day in and out at the resort, images of them in matching jammies kept dancing through my head.

The trick lay in the fact that these had to be summer jammies. Fleecy Grammy Jammies would not do. I couldn’t rely on the proven sewing patterns I’ve been using for 13 years, that I can make in my sleep. But I did know exactly what they should look like. I made them for my own kids year after year. Little knit t-shirts and shorts, or versions with long sleeves and full pants with ribbing at the bottom. I still had those patterns, but times have changed and even kids styles have evolved. My kids sported loose comfy garments. Today kids favor slim versions hugging their bodies.

Turning to the internet and the community of resourceful crafters out there, I found t-shirt patterns that not only suited today’s fashions but offered slim versions. For the shorts, I decided to alter my own patterns, taking tucks to narrow the flair. Whew, step one completed.

But what sizes to make? Pattern sizing is not uniform, so how was I going to translate the paper outlines to real kid sizes? The only answer was to be sneaky.

Both families with kids were due to visit in June. During each stay, stealth Grammy took action. When no one was looking, I swiped jammies lying in the hall. I snuck into their bedroom and rummaged through the pile of laundry. Suitcases held samples as well. I dashed into the laundry room with them, taking critical measurements and laying them on top of the patterns to match them to a size. Sometimes their clothes rendered different results. Waist measurements seemed to range all over the board. Were these well-fitting garments, or about to be discarded as too small?

My brain was spinning with the mental gymnastics and angst of trying to get the best fit. It was all a guessing game, but I ultimately had to commit to seven sets of patterns to use.

From there I was in familiar territory. I had already procured more than enough fabric. Now it was just a matter of cutting out the pieces and sewing them together. Soon I had seven little piles ready to go.

Three solid days of sewing later, the line-up was complete.

It was tempting to leave them out to admire, but I needed to package them up before I began to second-guess my work. That part was easy. The only fitting presentation was to use the same Christmas fabric wrapping bags that hold the Grammy Jammies every year.

It was so hard to wait…

But indeed, we have Christmas in July!

Sharing Adventures

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We met at the same time our kids did.  Erik and Katie were on their high school Nordic ski team, Betsy and I were team moms – baking brownies, holding out warming capes for the kids in their spandex racing suits, riding the team bus and cheering at the meets.  As the spark grew between our young skiers, so did the friendship between the two parent couples.  Sharing a wedding ceremony between our children cemented the bonds for all of us.

When Amazon lured Erik and Katie out to Seattle two years ago, I wondered how they would feel about living in a temperate climate, leaving behind Minnesota winters and skiing.  Little did I know that it would only be the beginning of mountain adventures for them, including skiing, snowshoeing, ski mountaineering and (gulp!) avalanche training.  Enticed by the stunning snowy mountain photos, I spent a week with them last winter including a picture-perfect day snowshoeing on Mt. Rainier.  I was hooked – I had to do it again.  And I knew the perfect companion.

“Say Betsy, how about Moms trip to Seattle?”  That’s all it took.

The plan was to hike or snowshoe together during the week while Erik and Katie worked.  For the weekend, the kids had something special arranged – three days skiing in The Methow, the largest cross-country ski trail system in North America, in the Cascade Mountains.  Not only that, but they had snagged a cancellation for one of the highly sought-after ski-in huts for our first night. 

We left in the dark, bleary-eyed but excited at 5am.  By 10am we were at the trailhead, and loaded our overnight gear in a sled for the snowmobile tow service.  Mountains of sleeping bags, food, water and clothing zoomed off as we – accompanied by pooch Finley – skied up the trail.  I looked up at the surrounding peaks, snow laden and glistening in the sun as my skis slid over the snow.  It just didn’t feel real!

That first day was magical.  The grooming was impeccable and we skied companionably in a group taking it all in.  Our hut was at the top end of our portion of the trail system, dictating we climb most of the way to get there.  Our original plan had been to ski up to the hut, relax over some lunch then venture out again.  But it was far too enticing to just continue skiing and cover more of the trails.  We didn’t have a morsel of food with us, but our hunger for the trails was stronger.  Onward we went.

There are five ski-in huts in all and we made it a point to stop and explore the locale of several others.  The clear favorite was Rendezvous hut, with spectacular views.  It speaks for itself.

The trails are groomed for both classic and skate skiing.  The others classic skied, and Betsy skijored with Finley.  I chose to skate ski, vainly hoping it would help me keep up.  But speed was not of the essence on this trip.  It was all about the experience.

By the time we reached Heifer Hut, we had skied 27 kilometers and were ready to settle into our rustic quarters.  It was perched on the mountainside surrounded by stately pines.  Leaning our skis against the wood exterior, we eagerly went inside to explore.  A woodstove, bench and double bunks lined one side, and on the other was a kitchen area with a propane stove and a table with benches.  A ladder led to the loft where three more double mattresses awaited.  The propane lights reminded me of Coleman lanterns, and were supplemented with solar lights fueled by a tiny solar panel. With the woodshed and outhouse across the way it had everything we needed,

Getting the fire started was our first order of business, along with fixing some food.  Hot tea and snacks refueled us enough to unpack, claim bunks and stash our gear. Soon it was cozy inside, and we traded our ski wear for comfy cabin clothes.  The remainder of the afternoon and evening passed quickly, with hot wild rice soup and fixings followed by lively rounds of Hearts played around the table.

Erik and I were the first ones up in the morning, and donned snowshoes to explore the terrain behind the cabin with Finley.  We meandered in deep powder, sunshine and silence, the perfect start to the morning.  Katie and Betsy joined us, and Erik headed inside to prepare breakfast.  I think those were the best pancakes I’ve ever eaten!

If reaching the cabin was all uphill, it meant our second day was the opposite!  Erik and Finley took off down the black diamond trail back to meet the snowmobile at the car while Katie, Betsy and I skied to a distant trailhead where we would meet them.  Erik managed to ski up to us en route, and we sent him off to get in some good fast kilometers (in prep for the Birkie), and he still caught us again just before we finished.  We completed the day with a low key snowshoe on Patterson Lake before heading off to our hotel in Winthrop. 

For our final day, we chose the opposite end of the trail system near Mazama.  There we skied in the valley, on trails that more closely resembled Minnesota.  The gentler trails passed through woods and open fields, where we were reminded of our locale with mountain views once again.  While we had encountered few skiers the prior two days, the easy access and terrain of this area invited many more skiers including families.  We skied a number of different loops before our departure time drew near. 

While we were sad to see the skiing and weekend come to an end, talk quickly turned to next year.  Betsy and I were hooked.  Clearly we have more shared adventures already looming in the future.