Chloe Smith from Kimberley, BC had gone all Shakespeare on us. If she gets any better at english she might have to become the demo room girl, in keeping with Colin Whyte our former demo guy who is now the editor of Future Snowboarding Magazine.

Chloe, one of our favorite counselors, handed this in for english class. Being a slow day at camp land, with nothing more notable happening than Graeme getting a haircut, Jesse being early for work and me being not funny as usual... Chloe wins the "Hey! Lets chuck this on the blog today!". Schools almost over and camp's almost starting. It's so close we can taste it. See you soon

Hamlet Snowboards In Heaven by Chloe Smith

To snowboard or not to snowboard that is the question:
Whether it is nobler in the mind to skip school
For turns and carves in outrageous powder
Or to take a day of torturous school instead
And by opposing end them. To read- to write
No more! And by write we say sleep
The heartache and the thousand natural inches of snow
That snow is heir to us: tis an ecstasy!
Devoutly to be faithful. To the waiting ocean of white
To snowboard, glide apoun flakes-ay there’s the idea
For in that day of glory, what dreams may come
When we have left a day of school
Teachers give us grief-what respect!
That makes them jealous of so long day
For who would bear the detention and suspension of time
The teachers are wrong, the mountains a playground!
The hills of despised youth, the laws delay
The interrogation from office, and phone calls home
The patient student a smirk of unlikely trouble
When he himself knows his dads snowboarding too
What my kid? Home sick with the flu
Principles grunt and sweat under a weary lie
But that the dread of not being up there themselves
The undiscovered powder, from whose to ride
No snowboarders return back to school
And make others crave the desired
And thus teachers do make excuses in us all
And thus the rosy hue of mountain air
Is hidden behind the cast of excitement
And calls of pitched happiness in the moment
With this regard to their winding through trees
And losing a friend till the open end
The snow gods! Don’t tell my teachers
Be all my sins remembered.