Growing up, it was never an option for my siblings and me to miss New Year’s at home—nor did we want to. My parents, who have a house on a ski resort, loved to invite friends up to spend the holiday with us. We’d spend the afternoon on the slopes, soaking up the fresh air and the small amount of sunshine the Allegheny Mountains receive in December.
Finally, after the sun had set and we’d all gotten a little tired and hungry, we’d hoist our skis onto our shoulders and trudge up the seemingly endless hill to my parents’ house, where we knew a warm fire and a night of fun games awaited us—as well as my mother’s New Year’s Eve Chili.
