This scene caught my eye and jarred the memory bank, as I traveled into the city over the weekend. My grandfather's snowshoes always got pulled out in the January snows. I thought it was pretty cool to travel quickly through the deep stuff and leave my buddies cursing me up to their thighs in snow. I discovered them one time on a trip to a dark corner of his cellar, and he told me they were mine. They looked just like these and probably, at one time, belonged to Leonard. I remember when I tried them on the first time. They were huge, and I could make no progress in the snow, so I stayed on our icy driveway and sort of skated around, under Mom's watchful eye. They weren't as popular as they are today. The other morning I saw a family tramping their way along a pathway near USM. They all had metal ones and looked like they were having quite a lot of fun trying to keep up with Dad. Maine winters... you've got to love them!