Once there was a snowboard...
and it loved a little grommet.
And every winter the young shredder would come
and he would wax and tune it
and adorn it with stickers
and clean it to a shine.
He would strap in with care
and admire it on the chairlift.
and shred the gnar on the way down.
And they would travel together far and wide..
And when he hit a jump or rail,
he would always trust the landing.
And the boy loved the snowboard...
very much.
And the board was happy.
But time went by.
And the boy grew older.
When thinking about my snowboard's final days of service, and its future, post-retirement plans, it's hard not to think of Shel Silverstein's "The Giving Tree."
I didn't always treat it the best, covering it in layers of stickers and riding some of that muddy and grassy late-season New England slush. I plumb forgot about it once at Berkshire East two seasons ago, and called the mountain in a panic three days later when I noticed it wasn't in my trunk. Luckily, it was waiting for me at the lost-and-found. Just like it's always been there, waiting for me.
This column can be read in its entirety on The Berkshire Eagle website, or reach out to me directly for a complete copy.