Celebrating the Season, However You Do It
Anne Hill has her annual Brigid Poetry Festival going—check the comments for linkage.
Me, I just had to get Out. Cabin fever was setting in, and walking the dogs close to home or going up on the ridge to cut firewood just was not curing it.
So we strapped the touring skis to the Jeep, loaded the dogs, and drove up to a higher, snowier place to ski a few miles, get sunburnt, and have one minor dog incident when they discovered a partly eaten snowshoe hare (maybe a bobcat's leavings).
Naturally they ate it. They need to demonstrate now and then that they understand that dog food does not always come in cans and sacks.
We stopped at Amicas in Salida for pizza. I found myself watching a grey-haired couple waiting to order. He looked to be in his eighties, yet he was wearing up-to-date "powder overalls" (like this).
I wondered if he just wore them for practical reasons, or was he someone who tore up the slopes at A-Basin or Winter Park in his younger years? Or even one of the fast-dwindling group of old men who wear sun-faded 10th Mountain Division patches sewn to the sleeves of high-tech ski jackets?
The earth keeps spinning.
After a couple of pints of Headwaters IPA (me) and some cabernet sauvignon (her) and sufficient pizza, we feed some crust to the dogs back in the Jeep, as a promise of the dinner (from a sack) waiting for them at home.
We started down the canyon of the Arkansas River, and M. remarked that it was not yet dark at 5:30 p.m.
The earth keeps spinning, whirling us on to the next thing.
Me, I just had to get Out. Cabin fever was setting in, and walking the dogs close to home or going up on the ridge to cut firewood just was not curing it.
So we strapped the touring skis to the Jeep, loaded the dogs, and drove up to a higher, snowier place to ski a few miles, get sunburnt, and have one minor dog incident when they discovered a partly eaten snowshoe hare (maybe a bobcat's leavings).
Naturally they ate it. They need to demonstrate now and then that they understand that dog food does not always come in cans and sacks.
We stopped at Amicas in Salida for pizza. I found myself watching a grey-haired couple waiting to order. He looked to be in his eighties, yet he was wearing up-to-date "powder overalls" (like this).
I wondered if he just wore them for practical reasons, or was he someone who tore up the slopes at A-Basin or Winter Park in his younger years? Or even one of the fast-dwindling group of old men who wear sun-faded 10th Mountain Division patches sewn to the sleeves of high-tech ski jackets?
The earth keeps spinning.
After a couple of pints of Headwaters IPA (me) and some cabernet sauvignon (her) and sufficient pizza, we feed some crust to the dogs back in the Jeep, as a promise of the dinner (from a sack) waiting for them at home.
We started down the canyon of the Arkansas River, and M. remarked that it was not yet dark at 5:30 p.m.
The earth keeps spinning, whirling us on to the next thing.
Labels: Colorado
posted by Chas S. Clifton at 9:37 PM Permalink
3 Comments:
I walked up onto the moor and camped out in a stone circle with a friend, at way below freezing. Sat around the camp fire, got drunk, but didn't have the out-sitting visions we were hoping for.
That "old man in his eighties" might well have been Dr. Ken Marmon, a County Health Doctor from East Tennessee who does indeed ski, even though he's in his late 70s...
Medeina, A solitary Small Landholder and Pagan Buddhist.
But is Dr. Marmon in eastern Tennessee or in Chaffee County, Colorado?
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