We’re slipping and sliding our way down Pyramid Mountain toward the lake. Snow is spread over the rocks like marshmallow frosting. Like delicious, gooey s’mores. Maybe that’s where the idea for this snow picnic came from.
My parents are wildlife artists. We’ve just moved to a cabin in the Canadian Rockies so they can paint moose and bears and things like that. We live so far from a school, Mom and Dad teach me and my little sister Crystal at home—or on picnics. But they call them field trips, not picnics.
