Snowy Dreams

Tuesday, February 05, 2019

The morning snow was light. Later that afternoon we got hit again with flakes bigger, fluffier, and falling longer. We’ve been through enough snows that we’re prepared to gear-up at a moment’s notice. My small entryway, looking like a war zone, has a heavy heated jacket, cleat-strapped boots, and snow goggles at the ready. I suit up and before stepping outside pick up a couple of old broomsticks. They support in case it’s slick, and are handy helpers for getting up after a fall.

Outside, clean, sharp air forces shallow breathing. There’s lots of snow, not deep, but everything’s clean, white, beautiful. Oh, silence! A special sense of stillness and quiet. I imagine myself in earlier times, way before environmental changes and carelessness in protecting our shrinking public lands. My chosen earlier time is the early 1900s and in this town, before the arrival of rail transportation and massive lumber industry. I want to be here when this still-dinky place was a mountain-isolated spot, smack in the middle of a huge forest of Ponderosa Trees, mature and beautiful, the likes of which humans will nevermore see.

I’m back in time, navigating through white silence, and ahead my horses wait. Rosie’s head hangs over the gate, her front foot impatiently banging against it. Oh, Rosie, someday you’ll kick that gate off its hinges. Behind Rosie, donkey Pimmy waits motionless. In the background, pony Sunni trots expectantly in circles. In these imagined old times, they fit perfectly.

I stuff piles of hay into a large sled, pick up a buggy whip (my space-maker), and start toward the horses. A wave of my whip moves the animals back, making room for the heavy sled to pass through the gate opening. They keep a safe distance while I move to stop number one and dump hay for Rosie and Pimmy. While I head for stop number two, Sunni tracks alongside at a safe distance, meets me exactly at her spot for the remaining hay.

I wish these animals had a decent barn with warm stalls and plenty of room to keep them comfortable and safe, but early on I didn’t know enough about horses to plan ahead efficiently. Fortunately, their large loafing shed shelters them from winds, rains, and snows. And their heavy coats are barriers to falling snow while they eat.

I start uphill to the house where my own dinner is nearly done steaming in an Insta-Pot, welcome heat emanates from a pellet stove’s flames, and already, my Cockatoo Peaches sees me from his perch beside a picture window, and screams, “Hello, hello!”. This episode of reliving the early 1900s is over.

Dear Readers, breathe deeply of freshness, let your minds roam. Diana.