I love how much everybody hates March.
No, no, not you. It’s perfectly understood that if you’re reading this, you’re likely along for the same ride. You already know what I know. The month of March, the bane of the yearly existence for those poor folks who don’t strap boards to their feet and throttle themselves down a mountain, is the best duration we’ve got.
March is our prime time. It’s the kind of month when we can expect 30 inches of snow at any moment (hello, Vermont), or a 65-degree afternoon accentuated by the scents of Coppertone and Kingsford. It’s the kind of month that gives us Daylight Savings Time, meaning that 3:59 lift ride is definitely in play. It’s the kind of month when spring flings, pond skims, and other warmer-weather events increase the jovial level at ski areas across the Northeast.
It’s sunshine, mashed potatoes, and après sessions of watching college basketball in that sport’s own best month. It’s shedding layers and swapping out goggles for shades. It’s the stretch run, yes, but with that comes a certain sense of savoring every turn, knowing that the weeks will turn into days, which will turn into monitoring the snow pack on Superstar.