Today, the season is fall, which means the next season is winter. Don't you love it when I tell you something you already know? Just call me your friendly-neighborhood repeater. Tune in next time when I repeat where babies come from. Kidding. Or not.
Fall is a crucial season for it's a season of preparation. Our fore-fathers (and mothers, don't forget the mothers) spent most of their autumns repeating the joy of a labor-intensive summer by harvesting hay, preserving produce, and collecting a cache of their hard-earned crops. Fall is the season for safeguarding. It is the time our fore-fathers (and mothers, don't forget the mothers) governed their resources in an attempt to protect and steward their families from the harsh realities of winter. Hoarding supplies and securing a shelter -- to trump whatever card Mr. Winter might deal -- wasn't a matter of comfort, it was necessary element of survival. Our fore-fathers (and mothers, don't forget the mothers) repeated this routine, year after grueling year.
Being as we new-age fathers (and mothers, don't forget the mothers) no longer need burden ourselves with the petty processing of the harvest and preservation (thanks to Wal-Mart et al.), we must find other Herculean, life-saving tasks to fill that vast amount of free time we have in the fall. My little family is no exception to this ritualistic repeating of fall fossorials. We must supply, secure and steward our family from the harsh realities of winter. We must plan, arrange, and govern our resources.
Nowadays, our winters are synonymous with recreating in a fashion whereby we attach ourselves to boards and slide down mountains. Repeatedly. Most people refer to this form of recreation as skiing (maybe you've heard of it?) This winter ski tradition is in my family's 11th repeating season and my Herculean life-saving fall is spent preparing for it.
At first glance, you might think my little existence is a trite one, what with comparing the winter months of the early 1800s to our season of skiing. However, that thing called Seasonal Affect Disorder (SAD) is a real situation, one that can be cured rather nicely by a season of sliding down a mountain with boards attached. Repeatedly.