... And we found it! [My sister-in-law points the way as we ride up the magic carpet]
We live in the San Francisco Bay Area, where the closest thing to "white" we get is fog. Or a touch of frost. My oldest was born in New York when there was still snow on the ground, but dipping him in a pile of it in Central Park wasn't sufficient to claim the experience. Meanwhile, my youngest had heard plenty of classmates rave about their weekend trips to snow country.
My brother and his wife hosted us in an amazing vacation rental this past weekend, and the boys finally had the sledding-tubing-snowplay experience they had dreamed about. As a bonus, we found a snowmobiling activity that both of them enjoyed. My boisterous youngest whipped around the course as if he had been doing it all his life; my cautious oldest puttered around slowly (lapped by his brother nine times) but with a smile on his face.
(At the end of the final lap, my youngest crashed into a row of parked mobiles while my oldest slowly stopped about 10 feet shy of where he was supposed to park. That pretty much sums up their personalities.)
This weekend reminded me of how much I miss being in the mountains. My boys loved their experience and are already begging to go back.