It was dark. And cold. And windy, really windy.
I tried to pull my jacket zipper up even though it already was, just to be 110% sure no air was getting in where it shouldn’t. My jacket covered my mouth, but not my eyes. My held up arm did little as a shield from the wind. It felt like everything got by, which turned out to be quite a lot. It all went straight into my eyes and nose. I was ingesting snow through every facial orifice I had. Switching strategies, I moved my arm closer so that my right forearm was pressed against my forehead, leaving a sliver moonlight and my father’s foot tracks just below it. Enough to get by.
Walking in his steps, I continued forward. We were hiking downhill, which was about the only advantage we had going for us. Home was about another 25-30 minutes away, but there was no warmth to look forward to there. No fire. No heat. Our cabin consisted of decades old logs, stacked on top of each other with some sealer in-between and a shady roof on top with a skylight. Shelter was the only thing we could look forward to, and a fire, but only after we started one. That took time, and every second felt like an hour.
Big snowbanks up ahead. Having little legs, snow that rose up to my dad’s knees went up to my waist, or further. I couldn’t step that high. I instead pushed through the snow, like walking into incoming waves, but much more dense. Still waves. Solid waves. Cold waves. Waves of snow and wind and ice, in the air and on the ground. Although slow, we were surfing.
“YOU OK, RIV?” I hear ahead.
“YEAHH..” I screamed back, not taking my arm off my forehead.
My voice trembled. The thought of knowing we were going to make it didn’t help much. Yes, it would be over, but not soon enough. I hated these hikes, but they were somehow exciting at the same time. Like explorers venturing into a dark void. The brutality of nature was intense, but also an object to overcome. We’d overcome this journey before, many times. Each tough, each cold, sometimes windy. We had a windy night, but the moon lit up our path with beams of light dancing through the trees. A trillion snow flakes flying in all directions faster than we could see. It was just monstrous-like, yet beautiful.
Having done this before, we were prepared, except for my eyes and nose of course. I cursed at not bringing anything to shield them. I had on Sorel boots, long-johns, wool socks, a red snowsuit with shoulder straps, a sweater, beanie, and a winter jacket on. Enough to keep me semi-warm. Enough to keep me moving forward. That’s all that mattered: moving forward. Stillness was not an option.
As we entered into the trees, the wind died down a bit. Just a little. The slight reduction in wind was filled with sounds of falling trees and branches, creaks and cracks, all with brief moments of silence in-between. A wilderness orchestra. The falling trees seemed to be everywhere, and we could only hope one didn’t fall on us. Peaking out from under my arm, I tried to keep an eye out. The odds of such a thing were small, but that didn’t take away the fear. I never actually saw a tree fall, though, only heard them. They seemed to happen every few seconds, but were all lost to darkness. I wondered what else was out there in the dark, and tried to keep an eye on that, too.
The excitement of home began to lift my spirits up as we entered into the last leg of our odyssey. I always got a last burst of energy knowing that it was almost over. “Going to get a fire started, something hot to drink, some warm food…” I said to myself. “Almost there… almost there… almost there…” It couldn’t come soon enough, even though I knew exactly where we were, which wasn’t too far off. Just down the sledding hill, past the meadow, past our outhouse perched atop a small hill, a slight left and we’d be there. A cabin in the woods. Our cabin in the woods. Our home in the woods. If it were summer, I could’ve sprinted there in less than a minute. We still had a few minutes to go.
My father, five or six feet in front of me, was pulling a large sled, packed with groceries, a water jug, and some other items from our day in Boulder - likely school books from class. If there was room, I might even get a seat on that ride, but not tonight. I was on my own tonight.
No matter, we were nearly there.
The cabin was now visible, and the sight of it filled me with warmth. We transitioned from deep-snow to our packed trails, which were now mostly covered with mini-snowbanks. It was enough that I could walk again, rather than swim. Stomping my legs on the group to shake the snow off, I exhaled deeply. The excitement of the journey wore off in a matter of seconds, just to be replaced with anticipation of food, water, and warmth. My dad opened the door, hauled the sled inside, and we were in. Home at last.
Turning on the lights, we could still see our breath. Freezing, but nothing a good fire couldn’t fix.
“You wanna start the fire, while I unpack?” my dad asked.
“Yeah.” I said, and walked over to get to work.
We were both still fully dressed. It was work getting home and work at home - at least for the first 10 minutes or so. I pulled my hood down around my neck, and got started.
Paper, kindling, sticks, small logs, large logs. All stacked nicely on top of each other. Little things on bottom, big things on top. I lit a match and started poking the paper at the bottom, where little mini fires began to take form. They spread upwards, catching the kindling, which in turn caught the small logs, then the large ones. I could now feel my face, and the sight of my creation kept my attention like a rocket taking off. Fires could do that. I loved it. I loved warmth, of getting lost in a gaze, just as I was lost amongst the trees just moments ago. But this was much more enjoyable.
“Dinner?” my father asked.
“Yes.” I said, and stood up to finally take my jacket off.
…
Hey! I just read this out loud to your Grandpa Robin! It really reads out loud beautifully! Robin remembers struggling to keep up with Leaf even when it was good weather!
Wow! I've been to that house! Wondered how y'all survived! Fires in fireplaces are wonderful! Robin keeps our fireplace stoked on all the cold days. Thanks for a really expressive piece of writing! I felt like I was right there with you! I am so thankful for the comparative luxury I live in, but I can see there are some important experiences I've missed out on because of the luxury and privileges.