19 November 2009 ~ Silverthorne, Colorado

It has been a crazy month in my world. The laughter and happy chaos of our Family Build quickly dissolved into a couple of stress filled weeks that left me questioning my sanity and relearning hard lessons. We are still recovering from the topsy-turvy events so when Jim asked if I’d like to ride along for a couple of peace filled days in the mountains I jumped at the chance.

On Tuesday we were up well before dawn and headed up a road that we memorized during our 17 month sojourn in the Rockies. We laughed and rehashed stories about those weekend trips that would bring us to our city home and then take us back to our mountain home again. We also remembered the weekend that the 80 minute commute took us nearly 10 hours as a severe storm detoured us through stunning, snow covered vistas. We both remember making the drive from Denver to Frisco in all kinds of weather and at every hour of the day. It never failed to take our breath away and it still does.

By the time we hit the long tunnel on I-70 it was light and the sun was throwing the most beautiful shadows onto the snow. We still call it the Eisenhower Tunnel even though it is actually two tunnels that cross under the Continental Divide. The eastbound bore was christened for Edwin C. Johnson when it was completed a full six years after the Eisenhower half of the tunnel was opened. In years past I would suffer a mini-anxiety attack every time we drove the two mile span. I had to throw the window open for long gulps of fresh air once we were through. I found that the weekly trips up and back helped cure me of my fear of the tunnel but then I just happened to read an old Stephen King novel “The Stand” and every time we drive through now I can imagine it pitch black and full of scary things. It really doesn’t bother me anymore, thank goodness!

After the long downhill grade we dropped into Silverthorne and Jim set to work wiring new lighting in a small distribution center. It was pretty frosty so I was content to sit in the truck and read for awhile. While I was waiting for a few degrees of warmth I could look up from my book and see the snow covered peaks that surround this small town. The Rocky Mountain Pine Beetle has almost fulfilled its life purpose to destroy the lush forest that used to fill Ptarmigan Mountain with year around green so I wasn’t as shocked as I was in 2006 when each trip seemed to highlight more dead trees. I remembered spending a December week in this town and I remembered several jet black nights when the Christmas lights on the mountain were a pale reflection of the CHRISTmas lights in the sky.

I finally couldn’t resist the first walk of the day and bundled up tight against the icy high altitude air. Since Jim and I lived just over the hill from here for well over a year this town and the surrounding communities are all familiar spaces. I found the quickest access to the Blue River Bike Path and spent an hour hiking from one end of town to the other. Within seconds I was deep in the memories of hundreds of early morning walks on the other side of the reservoir that separates Silverthorne from Frisco. I quickly remembered a few of the lessons I learned during those walks and laughed aloud at some of the memories. I remembered the “ice cream” headaches when I overestimated the temperature and left home without a toque or a scarf. I remembered the first few months when my body had to learn how to grab enough oxygen out of this dry high altitude air. And I remembered the tricks of traversing treacherous terrain. It was fun to remember.

I got out and walked several times during the day and each time was filled with memory making scenery along this section of the Blue. I told Jim I was surprised that the shallows aren’t freezing yet and the Fisherman informed me that this section of the river never freezes over. In the early sixties the Denver Water Board relocated the entire town of Dillon from the bottom of the valley to the top then captured water from the Blue and Snake Rivers and from Ten Mile Creek and other water ways that drained into the valley. This section of the Blue River is now drawn off the bottom of Dillon Reservoir and Jim says the temperature is downright balmy in comparison to the temp on the surface of the lake which does freeze over. This discussion reminded me of the early spring doldrums when the town of Frisco rewards a prize to anyone who can guess the day and hour that the ice will go off the lake. It is a festive event involving a carefully positioned barrel and a clock and the whole town is caught up in this sure sign that spring and summer will eventually come back to the mountains.

When I wasn’t walking on Tuesday I was reading. If I told you the title of the book I was reading you would be surprised but you would immediately understand why I found such reassurance in its pages. I bought the book several months ago and wasn’t really looking forward to almost 500 pages on a subject I’d rather not think about. But if I had read the book when I bought it I might have been better prepared for the stresses of the last weeks. I know I wouldn’t have been blindsided by things I should have expected. The book reassured me that we are on the right track in dealing with the inevitabilities that each human being faces after a long life. And it reminded me again what an honor it is to be entrusted with the great responsibilities of this day and of the days to come.

So, with all that said, I find myself once again waiting for a little more warmth before I brave another brisk walk. Jim is back at his work and I am excited to be here again for another day remembering how it felt to live in this incredible landscape. On Tuesday we finished the day with the best pizza in Frisco at the Backcountry Brewery and a stop at our favorite bookstore. We’ll make another star blazed trip home in the dark tonight and we’ll rehash more memories and we’ll both agree that we miss living up here. We miss the daily routines of walks in sun and snow surrounded by mountain vistas. We miss the smell of summer sunshine in the pines and winter wood smoke. We miss the congeniality of small town living up here near the top of the world. We miss the fireworks over the lake and watching it make its own weather as the morning sun sets the fog ablaze. We miss everything about each one of our mountain homes in Summit and Lake Counties. And when things get crazy again I know we’ll both be wishing we were here at home.