Monday, January 07, 2008

Snow-shoe freedom

The sun came out about noon yesterday, and the snow stopped----for a while anyway. Three more inches overnight and eight inches are forecast for a winter storm tomorrow night. It's starting to look a lot like the winter of 1996-97 except we endured a much longer snow season then---from Oct. 31 through April. That winter the snow was almost nonstop, and lots of roofs, including that of the new high school's auditorium caved in.

The snow can definitely do its damage, but it does have many good sides too. There's nothing more beautiful than a morning when all trees are covered with a crisp new white coating. It's almost a magical scene, and I no matter how many times I witness such natural beauty it takes my breath away.

We don't ski, but we know that people who do live for this time of the year, and we've always said it would be nice if it could snow every day on those mountains and leave the bare ground to the valley dwellers. We could handle that.

Since that scenario is pretty improbable, I must report that yesterday Bill, the dogs and I enjoyed a reward for all the snow we've moved and cussed so far this winter. Finally, thanks to the work of some warm temperatures, yesterday's layer of new flakes fell upon a hard surface. It's gotten cold enough and the lower layers have hung around long enough that they're solidifying. That combination makes for phenomenal snow shoeing.

Just the day before yesterday, I had traveled the rough trails created several days before and forged some new trails where, with each step forward, my snowshoes sank (please tell all the television broadcasters that when there's no helping verb, we use "sank" for past tense---always an impatient English teacher who gets tired of watching the language massacred).

Okay, I'll start a new sentence for clarity, now that I've gone off on my school marm rant. My snowshoes sank at least six or seven inches with each step. Of course, having a dog walking on the back of them helped push them downward even more. Needless to say, Saturday's outing was hard work, but I figured it would eventually be nice to have those new trails roughed out. Besides, I was getting a good cardio-vascular workout along with the sweat.

And, sure enough yesterday, when two old human codgers and three dogs of varying maturity took off across the Ponderosa pasture aka the hayfield, it was Heaven. We could walk almost normally, and we didn't have to huff and puff with every step. I suggested we take off to Stan Meserve's next-door field, and Bill said, "Follow me. I've got a trail." We meandered from the hayfield into the Lodgepole Log sanctuary and then headed through the trees toward Stan's fence.

Just as I was climbing over the electric wire (turned off for the winter cuz Bert Wood's cows went home a long time ago), my cell phone rang.

"Where are you?" my sister Laurie asked. They had stopped by for the weekly Sunday dog romp featuring Barbara's dog Pita and our little pup Kea. I told Laurie we were snowshoeing, and that I'd head up to meet them. When Bill and the dogs took off across Stan's field, I couldn't persuade Kea to follow me. Eventually they returned while Barbara, Laurie and Pita were still visiting. As Kea and Pita raced around the house wrestling, Bill reported to us about his experience.

He told us had made it over to Meserve's pond, but said he chose NOT snowshoe across that bridge made up of two lodgepole logs which crosses the creek. Apparently, Bill did not have the guts (is that also youthful bravado) to get up on those logs facing the possibility of slipping and falling into the creek, like two Camp girls and one Love child did a couple of weeks ago.

I can't remember which one of three Camp sisters chose to play chicken and not cross to the other side. All lived to tell of their adventure, and they came home dry as did Bill, who figured crossing the creek could come another day---without snowshoes.

The lure of a good snowshoeing trip would not go away for me, so after my sisters and their dog left, I strapped on my Red Feathers and again headed off with the dogs. This time I went through our woods before heading toward Stan's field. Once across the fence and with no cell phone in my pocket this time, I headed off, breaking my own trail across the vast expanse where Bert Wood's cow herd grazes every summer.

This time all those hundreds and hundreds of cow plops were far enough beneath my feet that I could plot my route any ol' way I wanted. Kiwi and Kea raced across the snow with Kea occasionally joined at Kiwi's neck with a firm tooth hold. I made my way toward Stan's snowed-over pond where remnants of huge cedars sawed off at about a ten foot level back in the Humbird Lumber Co. stood motionless, as they have for decades, above the pond's surface.

I walked along the ridge overlooking the pond as Kiwi's sharp nose found something very enticing within the top of one stump. Kea stuck with me for a moment or two. I looked over in the distance at those two lodgepole logs Bill had refused to cross and thought about those daredevil young women who will probably remember their Evil Kneivel snowshoeing feat at Meserve's pond for years to come. Ah, the courage of 30-year-olds with good medical insurance!

As we headed back across that big quiet, winter-laden field, I embraced the solitude and the sense of freedom that came with it. Cares are cast temporarily aside cuz who can get at you when you're out in that field and when you had the good sense this time to leave that cell phone back in the house? No one, 'cept your loving dog, and that's okay. The pure perfection of such a setting make life seem almost perfect, if only for a moment or two.

Thank you, Mother Nature, for sending along such an exihilarating perk to your daily dumps. I'm hoping to take advantage of the situation as often as possible this week and enjoy a little more of that welcome freedom from all worldly cares and stresses.

1 comment:

kelsi said...

Bill and I lack neither guts nor sense. I didn't cross that bridge - I was not chicken, I was merely showing sensible leadership as the oldest member of our snowshoeing party. That the others all made it across unscathed was merely a fluke, as the bridge was clearly unsafe. Clearly.