Family ski vacation so worth the prep, long lines

I’m writing from Winter Park, Colo.

The Cranor Crew is on a family ski trip. Due to blizzard conditions in Kansas, it took us over 20 hours in my wife’s new Mazda (the same one I rammed into the mailbox a few weeks back) to get here.

We dodged the storm by cutting south through New Mexico and Texas. We drove past stockyards that stank for miles. When we finally turned north, the air was so thick with skunk bud the kids asked, “What’s that smell?” “Colorado,” I said and grinned. The trip has become something of a tradition. We came last year with my wife’s side of the family. When she was a girl, they came every season. I, on the other hand, had only been on one church ski trip prior to our marriage. As a result, I often find myself scrambling to keep up, or careening off the mountain into a tree.

This year things have slowed down a bit. This year, our kids are learning to ski. It hasn’t been easy. Some days, I think I’d rather be stuck halfway up a ponderosa pine.

Just getting them dressed in their multilayered winter gear, their ski boots, helmets and goggles — it’s quite the chore. The 30-minute-long shuttle ride to the mountain and the teeming lift lines that await us are also challenging. Once we’re finally on the slopes, we’re lucky to get five or six runs before the kids wear out and it’s time to head back to the condo for naps.

If all of that sounds exhausting to you, it is. There’s nothing easy about skiing. It takes a ton of effort and resources to get to the top of a mountain. Then, 10 minutes later, you’re back at the bottom again, standing at the end of another long line.

The waiting is especially tough on 4- and 7-year-olds. It’s hard on their parents, too. If I had a dollar for every time I’ve been asked, “Are we there yet?” I could’ve paid for this trip.

Now, it’s our last day, and I’m up early, trying to put our adventure into words. Reading back over what I’ve written, I realize I haven’t mentioned the raw beauty found here: the mountain sunsets that turn the slopes a soft pink, or the fluffy

whipped-cream snow piled high in the trees.

I haven’t said anything about gliding down a slope, either, the way the rest of the world slips away. There is no better mindfulness practice, no more surefire way to be present in the moment. Which is, after all, the gift we’re giving our kids. One day, one fall, at a time, we’re teaching them a skill that will allow them to enjoy the mountains for years to come.

I also haven’t thanked my in-laws for taking us on this trip (thanks, Rah-Rah and Poo).

I’m thinking maybe I should go back and rework the whole column from top to bottom when my daughter walks into the kitchen and says, “Hey, Dad. Are we going home tomorrow?”

I pause, fingers hovering over my keys, and nod.

“Yea!” my daughter squeals. “How long will it take us to get there?”

Eli Cranor is the nationally bestselling, Edgar-Award-winning author of “Don’t Know Tough” and “Ozark Dogs.” He can be reached using the “Contact” page at elicranor.com and found on X (formerly Twitter) @elicranor.