Most walking trails in the mountains were buried in deep snow, so Saturday afternoon, my friends and I took a walk along the road, which wound through tall stands of pine. Whenever we caught a glimpse of the lake, we'd try to find a path down to the edge, walking around boarded-up summer camps and onto docks that stood high above the ice.
Quilt Artist and I wandered into one little hamlet where summer camps huddled along some open water. The only prints I saw in the snow were from deer and raccoon. The docks were mostly empty, piled with snow that held melted into strange shapes. A bright blue slide stood at the edge of one dock, waiting for summertime and the shrill screams of excited children.