Snow Musings

[Above photo: The Subaru with my apartment in the background. Note Ari’s wreath on the porch.]

19 December 2021

Most of us spend too much of our adult lives trying, consciously or not, to overcome our childhoods. It’s not that we have a choice.  I’m glad we aren’t instinctually-bound like cats or dogs but our early attachment experiences, especially, affect us so profoundly that they determine many of our future choices, whether deciding to or not to.

We had the first real snow of the year last night, about 6 or 7 inches. It is very beautiful. And it is so exciting to me, after years of living in California and, recently, Southern Africa and SE Asia. Having spent my first 18 outside of Seattle (Mercer Island) and in Denver, I was no stranger to snow. As a family we all skied. My older brother, Roger, won the 4 way (downhill, slalom, jumping, cross country) championship for Seattle high schoolers when I was 10yo. I well remember the day of his victory. He, and my next brother, Charles, each went to the US Jr. National Championships on two occasions.

I raced on a team in junior high and high school in Denver but never was as successful. I had a lot of fun, however. I actually enjoyed jumping and cross country the most. We’d compete with kids from all over the state, travelling to Aspen, Steamboat Springs, and many other ski areas to race. I remember going off a HUGE jump in Steamboat, and felt quite pleased with my courage. At the take-off of the inrun you are traveling about 60-70mph and have to throw yourself up and forward with effort at just the right moment.  I also recall doing well in a cross-country race in which I had to dig holes in the soles of my hiking boots to fit into the bindings; I didn’t have proper boots. But I just motored along and passed a lot of struggling kids.

Once in a downhill race at Winter Park, our go-to local ski area, I descended to the top of the course on Upper Hughes. Our team was the first in Colorado to wear helmets and the wind whistled in my ears so I passed it to my friend.  Later, as I was speeding on a traverse across a connector trail to Lower Hughes, I lost my line, got into some new snow, and piled into the trees. I was knocked out and was taken down in a toboggan, put in an ambulance, and hospitalized overnight in Denver, where I had a few stitches reattaching my right ear. Little did I know then that in 10 years when I refused to go into the Air Force during the Vietnam War (on principle), they used my head injury as an excuse to avoid a public fight and to release me honorably. I didn’t have to go to prison, which is a good thing.

Our Portland snow also reawakened enough wonderful memories that I called my brother, Chas, and we reminisced about our skiing and hunting trips as kids. Once we drove back from Harvard on Spring Break and spent it all living in the timer’s hut—-think a small room with walls and openings for doors and windows, 4 feet of accumulated snow on the floor, sitting halfway up the first major run at Winter Park. We shoveled it out, put down a tarp, and kept cosy in our sleeping bags. The absolute best was early in the morning when it had snowed the night before and we would be first to ski that light, light Colorado powder snow down to the lodge for a cup of hot chocolate. I don’t recall but think we likely cooked simple meals on a gas stove in the hut. Or perhaps ate a bowl of chili at the lodge.  My mother was very tolerant of our adventures, driving all the way from Cambridge to Denver only to disappear for our week of vacation.

During high school we also hunted several years for deer in the Fall in the foothills of the Rockies. I think I may have written about this already so I won’t elaborate, other than to note we’d often awaken in our tent to find a new dusting of snow. My god, it was beautiful to be young and strong and in the wilderness! We had only one rifle which Chas, being older and more likely to hit a deer if we saw one, generally carried. We, with no regrets, never had the opportunity to shoot a deer, although we did shoot, pluck, and roast a Blue Grouse over our campfire. Delicious!

This week I enjoyed a noon-time concert of VentiChordi, a violin and oboe duo accompanied on that performance by a pianist. They were all wonderful musicians and I envied their communion on stage. I hadn’t realized that CPE Bach, Johan Sebastian’s eldest son, was a fiery fellow, frequently getting dismissed from his positions, despite being a gifted composer and musician. Ah, those early attachments.

Two social events—-this really is a diary—enlivened the week. Ariane and her friend, Sadie, with Sadie’s 9 month old, Wynn, spent the night. The boy is a wonder, babbling like crazy and pulling himself to a stand with ease, which he has been doing for at least a month. We laughed and ate and Sadie and Wynn tried out my new airbed. It is pretty amazing, self-inflating and -deflating, the sleeping surface rising 2 feet above the floor.  I bought a thick, padded matrass cover and with sheets, duvets, and pillows they were very comfy. Ari slept through the night in her sleeping bag on the couch. Wynn is busy teething and awakens every hour or so for a quick nip, so poor Sadie is sleep-deprived.  In all respects other than sleeping, he is an amazingly alert, curious, and easy child. His default is an engaging grin.  It is so lovely to hold a child.

Sadie and Wynn drove back to Brooklin and I took Ari to the Jetport where she rented an SUV to drive to Florida. She’ll see friends at stops on the way. In Florida she’ll meet her guy, Jon, and kayak for a month or two in the Everglades. She is ready for a good time!

I also had the friends for supper who I’d expected last week. My error worked to my advantage, as I successfully contrived a meal where the cooking is brief and simultaneous. She is the daughter (and niece) of good friends and the head of Urgent Care at Maine Medical Center, the Big Dog in town. Becca has been very helpful in getting me oriented to Portland, a sweet, smart, and generous person. Her husband does IT, so I wondered what we might find in common. Of course, he also was a jazz musician through college, as well as having a double major in Math and Physics. And he got a Masters in composition.  He is smart as a whip, is very warm, and has broad interests. Anyway, we had a good time, although my choice of cheeses was too pungent for Becca—something French like a D’affinois and a Cambazola. I had bought both for supper the previous week so they had a chance to ripen in the fridge. Best to have a hard and a soft cheese, I think.

I may tire of snow by March or April but I am enthralled right now.  After lunch I shall take a long walk. Harold and I will spend four days cross-country skiing between three huts in the Maine Huts system in the Carrabassett Valley in early March. We signed up for full board and baggage transfers.   The scenery is reportedly glorious.

As I did growing up, I now pray for snow.