In Her Element

Made for Winter

By Erin Spong

There are two types of people in this world: heat seekers and snow birds. Summer people chase the sunshine, long days, warm evenings and prefer to wear as few layers as possible. They come alive when the days get longer and the world transforms to a lively green. And then there are winter people. The ones who feel a little spark when the temperature drops, who obsess over the forecast for the smallest sign of snow and who get a little more than giddy when the mountains metamorphose beneath a fresh blanket of white. They don’t see the cold as something to escape but an invitation to get outside. To chase the incoming storms, to challenge oneself and to find solace in a world transformed by winter.

I’ve always known which one I am. While others are grasping at the last days of summer, I’m anxiously awaiting the first snowfall. There’s something about winter that makes me feel more like myself, as if the rest of the year is just a countdown to the season that suits me best. Maybe summer people will never understand why we willingly trade warm days for frozen fingers and early mornings in the cold. And that’s okay. We’re all wired for different things.

Every year, when winter returns, it feels less like the beginning of a season and more like a homecoming. Winter has a way of making everything feel more meaningful: the early mornings, the long days outside, the rosy cheeks, runny noses and tired legs. It’s when I feel the most connected to the world around me and the most in tune with who I am and what I truly want. It’s when adventure feels limitless, the mountains feel like home and even the coldest days carry a kind of warmth that has nothing to do with the temperature.

We winter people chase storm cycles and powder forecasts. We know the feeling of watching a storm roll into the mountains and the anticipation that builds with every inch of accumulation. We understand that cold toes are just a small price to pay for those fleeting moments when everything lines up and the mountain delivers. For us, winter isn’t something to endure, it’s something to live for. When it arrives, something in me wakes up that has lain dormant through the long, hot summer months.

There’s a certain kind of freedom that only exists on snow. It’s found in the early hours before the lifts start spinning, in the first tracks through untouched powder and in the middle of a deep turn with nothing on your mind except the next one.

Skiing carries an undeniable magic that words often fail to capture. It’s a feeling, more than anything. It’s in the stillness following a good storm, when the soft, pink, early-morning light glistens across fresh drifts. It’s the moment before your tips slice into soft powder, like a hot knife through softened butter. The chaotic noise of regular life completely falls away. There is only the grandeur of the peak, the pure flow of your movement and the effortless sensation of flying through the landscape. Arc after arc, every turn translates into a silent dialogue between your mind, body and the mountain. Powder billows up and around you like a cold smoke, frozen air fills your lungs and every lingering distraction vanishes into the ether, if only from first chair to last. You cease to worry about what lies ahead or what you left behind, fully immersed in the privilege of being right here, right now.

But skiing is about more than the snow. It’s about the friends who not only understand why you’ll wake before dawn, but are the ones setting the alarm. The ones who call shotgun to chase a storm alongside you, or take turns driving through the night for a chance at fresh tracks. It’s the laughter shared on the chairlift, the knowing looks exchanged at the top of a perfect run and the stories that grow with every retelling. It’s a shared language built on mountain mornings, powder turns and the pursuit of something that never, ever gets old. The snow may disappear and the tracks may fill in, but the memories live on long after the season ends. The mountains give us a place to play; the people we share them with make it unforgettable. And every winter, we return for all of it—the freedom, the friendship and the feeling of being truly alive.