Mission Ridge Snow Park

Firsts

I’m still doing firsts, and I love it—maybe even more now than I would have when I was younger. There’s something about choosing new experiences, rather than stumbling into them, that feels important.

My staff organized a day at Mission Ridge to go tubing. I wasn’t able to make it, but my curiosity was piqued. I think I went sledding as a kid, but I can’t remember clearly any memories of launching myself down a snowy hill. It’s strange what we keep and what we lose. Maybe I did it, but it didn’t land the way this day of tubing would.

Tubing

Now, for those who may not be familiar with tubing, what happens is you ride a rolling sidewalk to the top of the hill and sit on an inflatable tire—wait—why is it called a tube if it’s a tire? Gah! Then, in the confusion of contemplating the name of the activity, you throw yourself down the hill, sliding at great speeds, and you don’t die. You might crash land, but you don’t die—which, at this age, feels like an important selling feature.

That’s it. Easy peasy.

So, keeping all that in mind, part curiosity and part a quiet decision to be a little brave, I booked a two-hour time slot for my godson. His parents joined us. The more the merrier.

We arrived and walked to the bottom of the hill designated for tubing (or tiring—oh, wait, that doesn’t sound good. Sounds like being tired. Fine! Tubing it is). The air had that sharp, clean cold that wakes you right up, and you could hear bursts of laughter and the occasional scream echoing down the hill. We got a very short lesson on how to use the tubes and which lanes were for what—delivered with the kind of efficiency that suggested we should already know what we were doing. I nodded along as if I did.

And then we went.

The feeling—the mix of hesitation and release, the laughter that comes out of you whether you expect it or not, the simple play of it all. Watching my godson light up, watching him want to go again and again, feeling that small, quiet success of giving a kid something that delights them—it stayed with me.

It wasn’t just the tubing. It was the reminder that firsts don’t have to be big or life-altering. Sometimes they’re just cold air, a fast ride down a hill, and a moment where you let go and trust that you’ll land—maybe a little crooked, maybe laughing—but you’ll land just fine.

As always, thank you for reading, Lovelies