There’s a joke that goes: “What are the four seasons in New England? Winter, still winter, and three months of bad sledding.” Any shrewd Yankee – or wise visitor – chuckles at this saying but knows it just ain’t true. Rather, winter in the northeast is a wonderland of opportunity. As the sage Henry David Thoreau observed, “a healthy man, indeed, is the complement of the seasons, and in winter, summer is in his heart.” And in Concord, where Thoreau tread across snowy dells and meadows blanketed in white, hearts are “warm and cheery, like cottages under drifts, whose windows and doors are half concealed, but from whose chimneys the smoke cheerfully ascends.”
