holding on

woke up this morning to the smell of approaching snow. my drive in to town showed me high banks of clouds, and the diffused sunlight caused my eyes to squint more than usual. and it's still abnormally cold.

i remember my thoughts as i decided to leave telluride 10 years ago: winter is too long here.

yesterday, my housemate came home with newly developed pictures. they spanned the past 6 months or so, and after looking at shots of our ski hut trip, we flipped to the next picture: the Animas river valley, flushed green with plant life, in late summer. stunned, we stared at the florish of color bursting off the film. We'd forgotten that it looks like this here. i could feel the longing rise like saliva in my mouth. i could almost taste it, spring...

fortunately, the sunlight is abundant, and growing in the time spent in the sky. in a few weeks, i may get to start planting seeds. the greenhouse will save me.

good morning

i've been enjoying the hour shift in my new work schedule. i go to work one hour later, but it makes all the difference. Morning is my favorite time of day.

today, i got up in the waking blue that comes before the sun, and went outside to see the the stars that so clearly cut the milky way through the heavens last night give lead to the singular star that energizes our little planet. From the blue slowly grew form, and mountains gained shape and structure, depth and definition before my eyes. shadowy treeshapes sprouted individual branches, snow laden and with birdsong. the east took on a rosy hue, and i sat back and let it in. this light is my light, and is not my light. this light both is me and distiguishes me. what a crazy world we live in.

my drive to work these days starts on the top of a mesa, where the sun lifts every snowflake into crystal splendor. driving without sunglasses is practially lethal, but i have to do it, because it's so spectacular. and soon i descend into the windy canyons, still cold and dark, that wind into town. by the time i reach work, sun has crept to the river bank, and the steam rising from the animas evaporates into rainbows.

this beauty, this reverence for life...how can anything else be more important?

dogs, snow, and sore hamstrings

It's been cold here, really cold. Mornings I wake to darkness and -11 degree air. I have to fight to get my door open so that i can let my truck warm up for 15 minutes before i leave for work. usually, that's not enough to get all the frost off the windshield, and the time spent outside clearing my view causes my nose hairs to freeze in to stiff reinforcements of my nasal passageway. Coming home consists of carrying loads of wood into the house to get the fire cracking--without it, the house carries a chill that can't be cut by central heating.

While there's a good bit of snow on the ground (upwards of 2.5 feet in some places), it's the cold that's been the biggest navigational juggernaut. Last week i heard of two houses with frozen pipes; one resulted in a collapsed roof. Our house presently has no water--we're not sure if the well is frozen or if one of the mechanisms that accesses the water has been affected.

My friend Elise was here a few weeks ago, and she commented on how much she missed Durangans. She's now moved to Ashland, where the weather has been a bit more mild, and the art a bit more edgy. "People in Durango might not have that spontaneous, edgy arty side, but they are just so good hearted and REAL!". I told her that it probably had something to do with the fact that we all have to get through the elements first and foremost:"there's little time to do art when we're all doing our best just to live in these conditions!" Later, when I helped her dig her car out of a 3 foot drift she backed into, she agreed.

Winter has really caused me to slow down. I'm not used to slowing down this much. Presently I'm housesitting on a mesa that uses a sketchy, steep dirt road as access. It's been snowing for two days, and I know my little truck may not have the power to cling to the icy surface of the road's hairpin switchback, so i've been here, stocking wood, doing yoga, walking the dogs, and listening to music. I haven't left the property since i got here. It felt, at first, somewhat like a forced retreat, but I'm noticing now that it's an opening...knowing that i can't go anywhere has allowed my mind to clear itself of tasks; instead, i see a little more deeply into my present state. I'm a little sad, a little anxious, and also very grateful. i feel okay being by myself.

i went for a walk down the hill with the dogs today. They leapt through 4 ft drifts as I waded waist high in the powder. i stopped to take a look at all the layers of snow: the nestled, individual crystals of the most recent storm, then a crusty layer of hoar frost, then a heavier, sponge-like section 4 or 5 inches thick, and finally, a dense, compacted snow from early on in the season. i pondered, for a moment, the accumulation of so much in such a short time, all the singular components involved in creating such a beautiful blanket for the earth. then i thought of avalanches, and snow melt floods, and muddy ground.

Maybe it's good to be sitting with things just as they are, because before long, they will all dissolve and transform. What i observe now may bring me closer to moving more gracefully and creatively with that transition.

101 words for snow vs. my gut

as i left work today, it was 35 degrees and raining--a very disappointing event at elevation 6700 ft in January. However, the rain was nearly weightless, and as i gazed up at Hogsback Mountain, a mere 300 feet above me, i saw snow clinging to its zigzagged spine. by the time i reached county road 204, the snow had accumulated my windshield. hooray. perhaps i can ski out my front door tomorrow...

i got to do such a thing last weekend. along with six old and new friends, i rented an old miner's cabin ((built 1889) in the San Juan Mountains near Red Mountain Pass (elevation 11,200 ft) for a weekend back-country adventure. as we planned it, the trip seemed very low key-- but the day when we were meant to leave brought on many challenges, particularly for this cat at the keyboard.

first off, there was snow, soft and sticky, alluring and mischievous, falling from the sky at daybreak. as word came from the drivers, we would not be leaving Durango for our drive into the now "chains-only" territory of Red Mountain Pass until 5 pm--a.k.a. after-dark. I looked at the forecast: more snow...high winds...temps at -11 F. my hands balled to fists; my stomach shrank; my hair raised. this did not feel okay.

i immediately berated myself. "wimp!" the voice sneered. "what are you afraid of? what makes you think you're not tough enough to handle a little wind-whipped cold?" but despite the jeering, i came back to the same conclusion again and again: i couldn't go under these conditions. on a physical, bodily level, every cell declared agreement, particularly those in my feet, where, once cold settled in, it would not be eradicated for hours (and, yes, i have witnesses to the stark-white wax museum quality of my flesh--absent of all capillary action--when it's been exposed to unmanageable temperatures).

at first i made everyone else on the trip blameworthy and stupid--john didn't know what he was doing, mari didn't know how to say NO to her boyfriend, brian was unreliable in the realm of thinking things through, and Sarah was just beyond sensible. I was the only logical, sane person in the bunch! right?

No, i should go. Come on, Foster, get your shit together and JUST DO IT. leave your brain out of it.

(but i AM leaving my brain out of it--once i stop blaming everyone else for their choice to go, i see that I just don't want to go under those conditions. my body, my experience, my sense of having a good time and NOT having to prove myself all tell me that i don't have to go).

so, i bailed, and found out that 5 others had also bailed, but that i could catch a ride up in a 4x4 the next morning.

i did. and we skiied that mile into the hut under full sunshine, with plenty of warmth and wherewithal to find our way, and we had a fabulous time. (I did learn that the folks who drove up in the weather had a challenge or 3 getting in--which they finally did, at 10:30 pm in the dark, wind, and snow-filled sky). upon arrival, we all commenced in wine-drinking, snowshoeing and telemark-turning through the fresh snow-laden mountain side. we tried not to get freaked out by the ancient "red-rum"-whisper of the mining lodge near our hut; instead, we played Uno and Trivial Pursuit in the heat of the woodstove and the light of old kerosene oil lamps. the snow made crystals on the windows and halos around the moon, and we left slippered footprints between the door and the outhouse (where, in order to keep our asses from freezing, we had to brush the layers of snow from the toilet seat). the morning revealed a confection of snow only a baker could grade.

tomorrow, i'll see what the sky has left me. perhaps i'll ski out my front door to the meadow across the lake; perhaps i'll brave the roads and go to yoga. it depends on what my body tells me, because even if i can qualify the conditions with words and numbers, all that really matters is what my intuition has to say. and i'll trust my gut over my vocabulary anyday.





The Hut where we stayed, and some certain measurable amount of snow; or, Fun! Fluff! Sun! Snow angels!