I love it when the first snowfall happens. It just feels so perfect and homey, as though every day were Christmas.

Oh yeah!

It’s usually this time of month when the first snowfall happens, and this is when me and my family all pack out ski stuff and move up into our cabin at Whistler. We pretty much have two homes; one on the mountain, and one down in the city. The one up on the mountain is the best one in my opinion, suburbia life is boring in my opinion.

We unpack all of our things from the car and since the driveway is all snowy, there is someone that has to sacrifice their dry socks in order to make tracks for everyone to step in. That person is usually me.

After unloading the car, we make a fire, get dinner started and scrape skis (if you’re not a ski racer, scraping means scraping the wax off the bases of the skis with this plastic card thingy. It makes your skis faster and keeps them in good condition).

My mom usually complains about the dinky oven we have (it is most definitely a senior citizen) and how she hates gas stoves because food gets stuck in the grill. Dad usually ignores all of us and re-boots the hot tub, and stands there fully clothes probably debating about where he should go in with his jeans on or go and put on his bathing suit.

My little brother will avidly run into the bedroom and turn on the Xbox, and he and I will argue about who gets to play NHL 11 because there is only one goddamn remote. Usually I win, but I suck at playing the game.

“Wow, you suck.” He’d tease me as the other team scores, again.

“Stuff it, you.” I’d say back “I’m getting in the zone.”

“Well,” he’d say all matter-of-fact “sure doesn’t look like it.”

The team scores again. I sigh.

“Yeah, whatever,” is all I have for an answer.

“Can I play n–”



Then mom would call us in for dinner, and for some reason, when we’re on the mountain, the cooking’s always better. Maybe it’s just because I’m at the best place on earth (Whistler Mountain), or just because she tries harder here.

But either way, the cabin life is quaint. It’s fantastic and utterly amazing. No one can say otherwise, because we all know it’s true. I’d trade after-school traffic for a snowy mountain and a roaring fireplace any day.