Have you ever had a great day? The kind of day that has you wishing you could do it all over again the next day. The kind that leaves you tired but oh so happy. I had that today, and it almost didn’t happen.
My tight schedule fell apart the minute I opened an eye. There was this thing to do. There was that thing to do. And one task birthed multiple buckshot tasks. It was a full hour after rising before I began the first yoga pose. Ten o’clock came and went, and I was still grunting away with hand weights. I’d misplaced an hour and a half somewhere.
On the plus side, Margo brought me a gallon jug block of ice, took the two gallons of tomatoes I had no plans for and HappyDog who would not be joining me today because my mountain trip was for the purpose of sitting in the rain. Yes, there I said it. I drove 40 miles to sit in my van, in rain.
Only a transplant from a relatively wet place dropped into a spot best described in the summer as Twin of Hades, can understand my inner yearning, my craving, my compulsion to be in proximity to wet stuff falling from the sky. Margo told me yesterday we’ve had 4 inches of rain since Jan. 1st, but most of it fell in January and February. Since then we’ve fried.
A strong rainfall hit me about halfway up the mountain. I laugh but it’s not a happy laugh. The rain failed to hit our old house and community at 6500′. I knew that would happen. Heck, I lived it for seven years. There is an imaginary most-rain-will-fall-above-this-line at or above 6800′. It’s relatively easy to spot the line because the pinion pine, cedar, and everything painfully pointy is replaced with ponderosa pine and Douglas fir.
Shall I stop in Cloudcroft for anything? I’ve been checking the inventory in my head for miles. Got food? Got drink? Got sweets? Check to all. Common sense says good to go. The thing ruining the inventory isn’t satisfied. My sweet tooth keeps butting in. What if you don’t have enough sweets? Can you survive without a sugary nibble? There’s a store right there with an entire aisle of sweets. Why is it so hard for my brain to say no to sweets and chocolate? The only reason I don’t stop at a store is my brain kept screaming repeatedly, “You have two kinds of sweets already tucked away in the food file cabinet.”
“Yes, but is it enough?”
“It’s enough to put me in a sugar coma for the day.”
I marveled that my brain won the battle, and I whipped onto Highway 130. A good rain was falling. This is what I came for but it made the gravel road slippy muddy. I bypassed the second turn to Pumphouse Ridge Road and continued a good golf ball whack further to the most musical trailhead name I know, La Pasada Encantada. The parking pull-off is empty. I pull in close enough to the right pole fence to prevent another vehicle from pulling in to my barn door side, but not so far over that I look like a jerk. This gives me a woodland view through the barn doors.
Must be twenty degrees cooler. Priority goes to releasing stale air but not letting in rain. Vents open ever so slightly. An awning window on the left barn door is wedged open with a clothespin. I slip out of Basin clothes into mountain clothes. A cup of hot tea to spread the warmth.
Yeah Buddy. Rain beating on the roof prevents me from testing out my new mini speaker. It’s like being inside an orchestra of drums. Heeheehee. Let me get comfortable. I spin the passenger chair around, position the ice chest as a leg rest and plop down a pillow for extra plushness and knee pleasure. My seating position is perfect. Darn it, I have nothing to hold my drink at the optimal height because I took out the little sit stool. That’ll have to go back in.
The heavy rain doesn’t last long. Drops to a simmer. I can hear again. I set up my music, get out my storage clipboard and fountain pen and set to work writing a letter to an old friend. Words flow like a river. Page after page builds under my pen.
Hours go by. Still drizzling. A sandwich or something warm? Warmth it is. A can of Chili Mac which I’ve never had before. Beans and pasta? I get red beans and rice, but pasta? The tomato base is an unexpected deep red. When I cook meat and tomatoes, the base become a brownish red from all the meat juices and spices. These two discrepancy clouds my taste buds. Instead of a pleasant feast it is merely fuel. Thank the stars for my sweets. The sugar fuels even more words. How can an introvert be so babblery?
Rain ceases for good. A herd of three young bull elk and a cow materialize on a slope. When did they wander in and how did I not hear them? They chew their cuds. You can see this fella has got my number. If I move, he stares at me. If I stay still, he looks away. No way I can open the door for a glass-free shot. The antler buds give him a look of a short necked, wrong colored giraffe.
Birds flutter. Squirrels scamper. Chipmunks are jerky, jumpy dots on the hillside. At 6:30 I was laying down my clipboard when a large chipmunk approaches the van. “Oh no you–” Apparently it does. It runs under the van. Crap. I get out and beat on the van sides. Did I scare it out? Who knows.
The road was wet until the Basin, but I am now an expert at getting this beast down the mountain. The Basin is awash in clouds but no cloudfall. I walked HappyDog around the van. She didn’t vacuum the air out from underneath so there’s a good possibility the critter didn’t hitch a ride. If it did, it is going to be mighty unhappy popping out in a village full of dogs, feral cats, hawks and fireworks. Barely got the van unpacked before it began to rain. Awesome.
I sit down before the laptop and more words spill out of me.
What a day.
Trekking Tess 