Hidden amongst the hills and mountains of southern Vermont are the remnants of sixty former ski areas, their slopes returning to forest and their lifts decaying. Today, only fourteen remain open and active in southern Vermont. Though they offer some incredible skiing, most lack the intimate, local feel of these lost ski trails. Jeremy Davis, creator of the New England Lost Ski Areas Project, looks into the over-investment, local competition, weather variation, changing skier habits, insurance costs and just plain bad luck that caused these ski areas to succumb and melt back into the landscape. From the family-operated Hogback in Windham County to Clinton Gilbert's farm in Woodstock, where the very first rope tow began operation in the winter of 1934, these once popular ski areas left an indelible trace on the hearts of their ski communities and the history of southern Vermont.

Some of the northern Adirondacks' most beloved ski areas have sadly not survived the test of time despite the pristine powder found from the High Peaks to the St. Lawrence. Even after hosting the Winter Olympics twice, Lake Placid hides fourteen abandoned ski areas. In the Whiteface area, the once-prosperous resort Paleface, or Bassett Mountain, succumbed after a series of bad winters. Juniper Hills was "the biggest little hill in the North Country" and welcomed families in the Northern Tier for more than fifteen years. Big Tupper in Tupper Lake and Otis Mountain in Elizabethtown defied the odds and were lovingly restored in recent years. Jeremy Davis of the New England/Northeast Lost Ski Areas Project rediscovers these lost trails and shares beloved memories of the people who skied on them.

Discover the ghosts of former ski areas that made the White Mountains the destination it is today. The White Mountains of New Hampshire are world-renowned for the array of skiing opportunities offered to every skier, from beginner to gold-medal Olympian. Today over a dozen resorts entice tourists and locals each year with their well-manicured trails, high-speed lifts and slope-side lodging. But scattered throughout this region are long-forgotten ski areas that can still be found. In the White Mountains alone, 60 ski areas have closed since the 1930s. Author Jeremy Davis has compiled rare photographs, maps and personal memories to ensure these beloved ski outposts that have been cherished by generations of skiers are given recognition for transforming the White Mountains into a premier ski destination.

The Berkshires of Massachusetts have long been known as a winter sports paradise. Over the years, many of these ski areas faded away and are nearly forgotten. Forty-four ski areas arose from the 1930s to the 1970s. The Thunderbolt Ski Trail put the Berkshires on the map for challenging terrain. Major ski resorts like Brodie Mountain sparked the popularity of night skiing with lighted trails. All-inclusive resorts - like Oak n' Spruce, Eastover and Jug End - brought thousands of new skiers into the sport between the 1940s and 1970s. Jeremy Davis of the New England/Northeast Lost Ski Areas Project brings these lost locations back to life, chronicling their rich histories and contributions to the ski industry.

In making her selection for Pharos Editions, Dana Spiotta tells us how drawn she was by the work of Raymond Mungo. "[He] writes . . . about his own joy and his own pain, he is particularly good when he describes the land around him and how it feels on his body." Indeed, if Henry David Thoreau had downed a handful of liberty caps before penning Walden it would have read much like Mungo's Total Loss Farm, a rollicking memoir of the late 1960's back–to–the–earth movement. Written in a limber prose style formed by the tempo of the times, Mungo takes us into the cultural tsunami of a failed radical politics as it broke on the shoals of a drug–fueled personal freedom and washed inland across the farmlands of Vermont, leaving a trail of damage and redemption in its wake. Total Loss Farm attracted widespread critical and commercial attention in 1970, when the "back–to–the–land" hippie commune movement first emerged. The book's first section, "Another Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers," appeared as the cover article in the May 1970 issue of Atlantic Monthly. The hardcover first edition from Dutton was quickly followed by paperback editions from Bantam, Avon, and Madrona Publishers, keeping the book in print for several decades. Very recently, Dwight Garner in the New York Times Book Review cited Total Loss Farm as "the best and also the loopiest of the commune books."

The extraordinary story of the small Vermont town that has likely produced more Olympians per capita than any other place in the country, Norwich gives “parents of young athletes a great gift—a glimpse at another way to raise accomplished and joyous competitors” (The Washington Post). In Norwich, Vermont—a charming town of organic farms and clapboard colonial buildings—a culture has taken root that’s the opposite of the hypercompetitive schoolyard of today’s tiger moms and eagle dads. In Norwich, kids aren’t cut from teams. They don’t specialize in a single sport, and they even root for their rivals. What’s more, their hands-off parents encourage them to simply enjoy themselves. Yet this village of roughly three thousand residents has won three Olympic medals and sent an athlete to almost every Winter Olympics for the past thirty years. Now, New York Times reporter and “gifted storyteller” (The Wall Street Journal) Karen Crouse spills Norwich’s secret to raising not just better athletes than the rest of America but happier, healthier kids. And while these “counterintuitive” (Amy Chua, bestselling author of Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother) lessons were honed in the New England snow, parents across the country will find that “Crouse’s message applies beyond a particular town or state” (The Wall Street Journal). If you’re looking for answers about how to raise joyful, resilient kids, let Norwich take you to a place that has figured it out.

"I come from Des Moines. Somebody had to." And, as soon as Bill Bryson was old enough, he left. Des Moines couldn't hold him, but it did lure him back. After ten years in England he returned to the land of his youth, and drove almost 14,000 miles in search of a mythical small town called Amalgam, the kind of smiling village where the movies from his youth were set. Instead he drove through a series of horrific burgs, which he renamed Smellville, Fartville, Coleslaw, Coma, and Doldrum. At best his search led him to Anywhere, USA, a lookalike strip of gas stations, motels and hamburger outlets populated by obese and slow-witted hicks with a partiality for synthetic fibres. He discovered a continent that was doubly lost: lost to itself because he found it blighted by greed, pollution, mobile homes and television; lost to him because he had become a foreigner in his own country.