photo credit: Harriet Wallis

Publishers Note:

It is with great sadness that we learned of the recent passing of one of our most popular contributors, Harriet Wallis. This is one of her many wonderful articles we are republishing this season.

“Quick. Look over there. Do you see what I see?”

The fog was as heavy as a wet blanket. I’d already been driving for 3 hours and most of it was in the pea soup as I headed north up the Connecticut River Valley. High beams were too much. Low beams weren’t enough. Just stay on the road.

Destination: Killington, Vermont.

We left home in Connecticut in the middle of the night with the intention of being first on Killington’s slopes. It was the late 1970s, and Killington was the only New England ski area that was open – on just a few trails on the top of the mountain. We’d have to ride several chairlifts to get to those trails. We built in extra time for that, but we hadn’t expected heavy fog and slow travel.

It was the first Thanksgiving that I was a divorced mom. The three of us – Craig, 12; Alison, 10; and I – agreed that it wouldn’t be any fun sitting around a turkey by ourselves, so we decided to start a new Thanksgiving tradition. Let’s go skiing!

That’s where we were heading. It was vaguely becoming daylight as I left the fog-bound interstate and headed north on 2-lane roads toward Killington. Fog was thinning a bit, but I still had a white-knuckle clench on the wheel. I was beginning to wonder if we’d get to Killington in time to make the long drive worth it.

Waves of fog continued. Horses looked over pasture fences and exhaled plumes of frosty breath. Little farm houses appeared ghostly and then quickly dissolved away. The images were magical, but we wanted to get to the slopes.

Just beyond Ludlow, the wispy curtains of fog opened for a moment and we saw snow guns blasting snow at Okemo.

“Quick. Look over there. They’re making snow!”

It was still another hour to Killington, but I needed a break. I drove to Okemo and we took a look. Snow guns were pounding the beginner slope – and skiing was free for anyone who dared to ski it.

Skip Killington. We’re here. Let’s ski Okemo’s beginner slope. The price was right and the drive was over. The snow guns turned us into frosted doughnuts on every run. We crinkled from our wool hats to our ski boots, and we had to chip the ice off each other after every run. But we’d started our new ski on Thanksgiving tradition.

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Harriet Wallis

Harriet Wallis has been a ski writer, editor and photographer forever. She learned to ski on a dare when she was in her mid 30s and has been blabbing about it ever since. Her work appears in regional and national print and online publications. Ski Utah named her Journalist of the Year. You can see more of her articles here: https://www.alta.com/stories/102-year-old-powderhound.

She's a senior-age skier based in Salt Lake City and she enjoys nearly a gazillion ski days each winter. She also enjoys two stainless steel knees.

Harriet loves to be outdoors, so during other seasons she swims, bicycles and kayaks. She also single handedly rips up her yard, converting it to an arid and low water landscape with indigenous plants that she propagates. Skiing is a lot easier!

Latest posts by Harriet Wallis (see all)

• How Wheaties Affected The 1936 Olympics - March 19, 2026
• Five Things You Should Know When a Skier Crashes - January 8, 2026
• Three Holiday Gifts Senior Skiers Wish For - December 18, 2025