Skis and Snow over Sun and Sandstone

Just wrapped up Spring Break 2025.

We had loose plans to spend it in Southern California. I was going to drive down with all our camping stuff, and Jeremy would take the cheap flight from Idaho Falls to Las Vegas with the wee peeps. Nothing was set in stone, but that was the target. An alternative to “the desert” that the homies claim they are “over.”

Then life got a little squirrelly. Betty received her acceptance to Colorado Rocky Mountain School and will start her freshman year there in the fall. Of course I’m overflowing with pride for her making this a reality for herself, elation for her manifesting the life she knows she wants. I’m also feeling deep sorrow and grief that I did not know was in me when I think about having only four more months over four more years. And….how the eff are we going to pay for it?!

Then our Subaru broke. Like out of commission for a few weeks now. Some sort of Flux Capacitor required thousands to fix. 

Then I wrecked the truck. I drove up and onto the one thing I was trying to avoid and high-centered and destroyed the bed of the truck. How Jeremy and Nick managed to engineer its freedom in the dark and the pouring snow will never be clear to me. 

Then Jeremy, who recently went back to work after being laid off since November, learned his employment almost certainly will be terminated…just don’t know when.

Then it got worse. We learned the Moose Willow Ranch will be up for sale at the end of the summer. Every variable in our smooth-sailing dreamy life became Topsy-Turvey and uncertain. No clarity about any single thing. 

The option for Spring Break in Southern California was removed. Choices were to road trip and camp somewhere in southern Utah or northern Arizona, or to winter camp at Double Cabin–13 miles north of our house. 

Both homies immediately bounced on the Double Cabin option. I was a mix of disappointed emotions. Like, Fuck. 

Like, can’t we at least go get warm together and dry out for a week? Ride bikes? Slither through slot canyons? Bask in the sunshine on the sandstone? It was kind of my final straw. Like in Dumb and Dumber when he’s listing all the terrible things and then caps it off with “and all our pet’s heads are falling off!” That’s how I felt. I was selfishly clinging to what I thought was my only way out of this cosmic funk.

On the flip side, since there is duality in all things, once the wheels were in motion, I hopped onboard. With each punch of puff of sleeping bag into the smooth synthetic stuff sack, the weight bearing down on my shoulders got lighter, or maybe I grew stronger enough to carry it. I had a little pep in my step for the first time in quite a while. We made a meal plan, a shopping list, and filled the big water bladders with our favorite tasty Moose Willow water. We laid out snow clothes, sleeping clothes, skiing clothes, and chilling at camp clothes. We stuffed hats, and mittens, and extra socks, and sunscreen. We went through the camping box and scaled it down to fit the dry goods food. We filled the cooler. We rounded up four sets of skis, and poles, and boots that fit. We packed the bear sprays. 

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I declared several times throughout the day how much I love packing and preparing for adventure. About how much I just love adventure. During the semester program at SOAR, we had an entire day devoted to pack and prep before we embarked on 21-day expeditions. What could be an incredibly overwhelming and disastrous day for a house full of people with ADHD trying to pool together their executive functions to pack what they need for 21-days inside a 15-passenger van in a way that worked, was actually a great day. The music was cranked, there were checklists for everything, the anticipation of the adventure kept spirits bright. Plus, the students ultimately chose the adventure. They planned the route, chose the activities, checked the weather, made the meal plan, and put together the playlist. As we were packing for winter camping, I realized that’s where our homies are now, too. They require autonomy at a new and elevated level. 

Jeremy and I discuss a winter camping trip every year, but we have not yet pulled it off. We both did plenty of winter camping during those semester programs at SOAR. It wasn’t the winter camping that I was all agro about–it was missing the desert. I watched with a smile as he and Devlin fueled up the snowmobiles and the side by side and checked the oil. A proper vehicle check-out. 

The side by side was loaded both inside and out. There was a wee spot for Joox to perch inside the cab. There was a big black box on the bag with a sled hanging off the hitch on the back, and a 12×12 tent and all our skis up top. Betty and I were in the front with a stack of backpacks between us. Jeremy and Devlin rode the snowmobiles.

I don’t love driving the side by side in the winter. Tracks don’t move like tires and sometimes things get sketchy. Huge drifts that could easily tip you over, soft snow that could sink you, unseen obstacles that could high-center you, all lead to digging out and trying to get unstuck in the snow. I highly despise getting vehicles stuck, yet it is a constant in our lives. 

The side by side was struggling to get up the switchbacks from the bottom of Cartridge Creek. It overheated once, and the antifreeze was gushing out from everywhere. We cooled it off, only to have it heat back up again. We were within reach of the cattleguard, which is the summit, before dropping 5 miles into the Double Cabin Valley, when I stopped it to let it cool down. It was mid-afternoon, and we still had plenty of daylight. Jeremy and Devlin snowmobiled back home to get some spare anti-freeze. Betty and I stayed put. I took the sled off the back and took a sunbath with my snow gear on. Bet stayed in the cab and read her book. We listened to her playlist on the speaker until it ran out of battery. The boys were gone for just over an hour, and the trip was already off to a fabulous start.

When we arrived at camp, everyone jumped into a role and made it come together. We scoped out an area and made multiple laps, trying to pack the snow down with the tracks. Otherwise, we’d be post-holing 4ft deep. Once we established the snow camp perimeter, betty hopped in the sled and Devlin pulled her back and forth to level out the tent space I was pacing out around them. We chose the spot for our fire and dug down to the earth. We packed down the area around it so we had a place to set our camp chairs. After we erected the tent, the fellas head off on snowmobiles with a chainsaw and a sled while Betty and I set up the table and the kitchen and transferred the food to the bear bin. We had to discuss and vote and collaborate on plenty of things, and we did in such an easy-going way that kept me smiling. 

The four of us shared our big 12 X 12 Outfitters’ tent. We brought the wood stove that goes inside it with us, but never used it. The first night was brutal. We set the tent up on the snow. It would have taken forever to dig down to ground level. The sleeping pad situation was no bueno. When I got up to pee under the incredible sky of stars, I noticed one of Betty’s sleeping pads deflated, and she slid off the other. Devlin was in shrimp shape with only his butt on the sleeping pad. The crinkle-crinkle that accompanied the tossing and turning were the only sounds we heard that night. Except an owl. We all listened to the owl in that coldest predawn hour while we were all struggling. 

Jeremy rose first and had a fire started by the time I came out of the tent once the sun crested the ridge next to Mt. Kent. Preparing coffee while camping is one of my life’s greatest pleasures. I loved it all those mornings as SOAR and I love it still. In the summer, I often make my coffee camp style out on the porch rather than on the stove inside. By the time my coffee was dripping into my mug, I had let go of the terrible night experience. At least we were all in it together, and it was a new day. 

The kids slept for a few hours after the sun came up. They both did their best jobs to shake off the night too. We made a big hearty breakfast and sat around the fire. In the early morning, you could walk on top of the snow with confident predictability. By 10:00am the sun was strong enough to soften the banks and each step you took flirted with a post hole up to your hip. On the second day, I wore skis everywhere I went beyond the fire pit because I was so sore from the unstable walking the day before.

The sun was strong and its reflection on the snow was the intense that made your eyes water. 

We set out for a cross-country ski. The homies headed upstream of the Wiggins Creek. The surface of the snow was sun-kissed just enough to make it slushy and slippery and super fun. We were in t-shirts, skiing on the mouth of the creek into the wilderness. We stopped occasionally to check out the creek coming to life by licking the snow edge of its path. The colors of the pools appeared much more Caribbean than they did mountain western. Everyone was tired and got no sleep. We all could have been crabby and miserable and rotten, but we weren’t. We glided along changing partners, going solo, coming back together. No one whined. No one complained. No one bickered. This is our flow state. Adventuring together is what we do best. 

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Later in the afternoon, Jeremy and I were resting inside the tent. I heard laughs and giggles coming from the firepit. Devlin had convinced Betty to put her book down for a minute and play cards with him. They were slapping Jacks on top of the overturned sled. After dinner that night, we played a few rounds of Wavelength around the fire. A validation of how well we know each other. 

Everyone spruced up their sleeping nest during the day so that we would not fall victim to the same fate. It worked. The second night was full of restful sleep. Well, mostly. I always get up to pee in the middle of the night, camping or not. The sweep of the nighttime stars in the sky always blows my mind. I was reflecting on that as I re-zipped my sleeping bag and fluffed up my puffy coat pillow. When I settled I, I heard the howl of the wolves. I reminded myself to hang tightly to the moment. Not just the stars and the wolves–to clutch firmly the feeling of joy and wonder and love and luckiness I was finally feeling after a few weeks of sloshing around in the muck and the mire.

I’ve since been doing a better job of being myself. 

I’m remembering that there was a time when I thrived in this space. The adventure of uncertainty and the limitless possibilities in the unknown.

This winter expedition with my peeps was the blast of fresh air I needed to swim back up to the surface.

We do not know, not even a peek of a clue, where we will live six months from now. And it is impossibly difficult to see what could top this. What lifestyle could suit us better or what land could be more special. It’s not the first time I’ve carried those sentiments. 

I used to stand on the top deck porch at Eagle View Ranch and think the same thought. I am living my best life. Having a job and lifestyle that is perfect for me while living with this soul soothing view. Couldn’t see how it could get better than that.

Now I’m here. To get here was a leap, a risk. Our kids were babies, and we weren’t sure what we were getting into. We committed to ourselves to two years, and now it’s going on 11. For the past decade, I look around and tell myself the same tale. This is as good as it gets. There can’t be an existence of my life that could beat the one I’m in. I’m reminding myself that’s fake news.  

I believe that life is only going to get better for us. That if we have faith and trust that the universe will conspire and light up the cosmic highway to transport us to the far side of our wildest dreams once again to our next best thing. 

I had not received so many blows in a row in quite a while. I was doing my best to keep at water level, but I was struggling. Even though I know all the wonderful things on the other side, it all felt really heavy and out of my control. Even though I know better, I allowed myself to be attached to expectation and my suffering was a result. The camping trip buoyed me. It reminded me of how fortunate I am to be living a life according to the promises I made to myself in my 20s. 

Mad Faith is taking the wheel right now. Everyone else is in training for what’s coming.

Ultra Violet is gliding across the crust on skis in the early mornings and recording the three yoga videos each week.

Hardscrabble is making business decisions and charging up hills.

La Madre is still crying–she needs a little longer.

They’ve all been whistling the tune “She’ll be coming round the mountain when she comes”. I know. I can tell. A new superhero is on her way and I can’t fucking wait to meet her. She’ll join the team and they’ll all get me through this together.