She was but two years old:

Her pink one piece suit engulfed her, and with her matching pink helmet, goggles and mittens, it was hard to tell there was even a little person inside. Sitting on her father’s lap on the chairlift, she was perfectly quiet, turning her head occasionally to take in the scenery. Her father cradled her lovingly, allowing her to absorb the tranquil beauty of the mountains around her. When they reached the top of the chairlift, her father carried her as he skied off the lift and on to the side of the trail. He then set her down on the snow, her skis between his, her shoulders firmly in his grasp, and slowly they began to slide down the mountain. I would see them again about two hours later, her skis had been removed, and her father now carried her in a backpack. He was carving graceful turns down the run, coming towards me as I stood on my skis on the side of the run. As he got closer to me, I could see the broad smile on his face, and as they went past, I heard her screeching in delight! A priceless day between a father and a daughter was happening, and a life long passion for mountains, clean air, the great outdoors and the power of family had been ignited