As I watch relationships around me I see them bud. The joy is infectious. I see old lovers blossoming in the love they still feel for their mates. I feel pain for those who lose their love and are left feeling lost.
This circle of life takes us on quite a journey and I'm happy to be on it.
Here's one of those songs that can't resist making you feel that rush of warm love. It just makes me sigh.
>>This blog brought to you by hockey-induced sleep deprivation<<
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Retreat
For our annual company retreat we leave civilization behind for the mountains of Idaho. Nestled in the trees is the special Lochsa Lodge. We have been coming here for the past 4 years for snow, rain, mud, and more snow. This year was touch-and-go because of avalanche activity on the highway. We got a thumbs up from the ID DOT and off we went. We typically bring a keg, booze, food, a lot of bottled water, dogs, snow apparel and a good sense of adventure. This year I thought several times about renting snowshoes, but didn’t find the time. What a shame!
J and I load up the truck with our dogs and our gear and as the snow starts to fall again, we’re off. The roads are wet, but we are unsure we’ll make it all the way. As we start to climb up the pass, the snow on the side of the road builds like walls. Our speed slows with every mile we drive. Pretty soon, the wall of snow looms over the truck and claustrophobia sets in. We’re both jittery and ready to be there. At the top of the hill, 32 miles up, we hit the Idaho border and turn off to the visitor’s center. Wow. The snow accumulated on the roof is intimidating. I enter the building, but I don’t stay long. It seems solid, but that is a lot of snow and a lot of weight on it.
After taking a few pictures, we hit the road again for the last leg of our trip. It’s only 15 miles or so, but it seems like an eternity. The roads are barely squeezed between the snow. It’s like being in a tunnel. I’m scanning, but not scanning the hillside out my window for potential avalanche. We would be so screwed. A plow comes the other way, scraping the guardrail and sending sparks flying. It seems like there’s not enough room. We squeeze over to the right as much as possible, coming to a stop, and wince as he passes us. Whew! Tight! I ponder how they can keep piling it up on the side when we come up behind a blower scraping the side barrier and throwing the snow 7 feet up and over the mound. Ah!
When we reach the entrance of the lodge, the highway is barricaded closed beyond the turn. There are numerous avalanches as well as semi-trucks stuck, waiting to be freed. We are relieved to leave the highway for the warmth of a cabin. As we pull up to the main lodge, the view is spectacular. The lodge is lit from within, massive snow covering the roof and mounded in front. It’s like a winter wonderland.
The next day we take the dogs for a hike. Tasha, our snow dog, decides to explore down under a small tree and gets stuck. We see the end of her leash pulling at the edge of the snow, but no dog. I see an occasional nose pop up and we’re both calling for her, telling her to keep at it, she can do it. Finally, when we can no longer see her, J runs over and she’s struggling, but digging herself deeper instead of getting out. He says she has a look of panic in her eyes. We keep a harness on her and it comes in handy as J grabs it and lifts her to safety. I’m not so impressed, ye arctic dog of the north. Meanwhile, oblivious to the danger of her constant companion, Jema, our shepherd mutt, is rolling and burying her head in the deep snow. She’s thrashing her body to and fro, grunting and snorting in delight. They say ignorance is bliss and I think Jema believes that.
We are unsure of our path, as it tends to unexpectedly sink beneath us, burying an entire leg up to our hip. This will be a very difficult “walk” and we stop to discuss whether to continue. Just then, a group of snowshoers appear and ask if we’re ok. As they pass, I ask them if it’s ok for us to follow their trail. Seems like they will be compressing the snow and it will make travel easier for all 4 of us. They don’t mind. We’re delighted and give them some time to get ahead, then start on our way. It’s still rather unpredictable in spots, but much easier to move. The dogs are particularly grateful. We travel along, Jema, then Tasha, then J, while I bring up the rear, stretching my steps to match strides with my long-legged man.
We’re both sweating and our boots and pants are getting very wet, but we’re exhilarated. The trail leads us down to the river where you cannot tell the land from the water. There are all sorts of animal tracks in the snow, but the dogs are just as curious as we are, so they disturb them before we can get a good look. The deer tracks are obvious, but one set is a series of leaps across the ice. My mind imagines fox, mountain lion, lynx. I guess I’ll never know for sure. We continue our loop through the woods and along the river. There’s a whole herd of deer standing in the middle of the river. We’re told they do that so they can see their predators coming.
We finally scramble up a steep embankment, both of us getting stuck along the way. We emerge on top of the mound that lines the roadway, putting our fists up in the air like Rocky and smiling triumphantly. The dogs sleep the rest of the retreat. For them, it was almost like swimming through the snow. They rest well and so do we.
Here are J's photos from the weekend
J and I load up the truck with our dogs and our gear and as the snow starts to fall again, we’re off. The roads are wet, but we are unsure we’ll make it all the way. As we start to climb up the pass, the snow on the side of the road builds like walls. Our speed slows with every mile we drive. Pretty soon, the wall of snow looms over the truck and claustrophobia sets in. We’re both jittery and ready to be there. At the top of the hill, 32 miles up, we hit the Idaho border and turn off to the visitor’s center. Wow. The snow accumulated on the roof is intimidating. I enter the building, but I don’t stay long. It seems solid, but that is a lot of snow and a lot of weight on it.
After taking a few pictures, we hit the road again for the last leg of our trip. It’s only 15 miles or so, but it seems like an eternity. The roads are barely squeezed between the snow. It’s like being in a tunnel. I’m scanning, but not scanning the hillside out my window for potential avalanche. We would be so screwed. A plow comes the other way, scraping the guardrail and sending sparks flying. It seems like there’s not enough room. We squeeze over to the right as much as possible, coming to a stop, and wince as he passes us. Whew! Tight! I ponder how they can keep piling it up on the side when we come up behind a blower scraping the side barrier and throwing the snow 7 feet up and over the mound. Ah!
When we reach the entrance of the lodge, the highway is barricaded closed beyond the turn. There are numerous avalanches as well as semi-trucks stuck, waiting to be freed. We are relieved to leave the highway for the warmth of a cabin. As we pull up to the main lodge, the view is spectacular. The lodge is lit from within, massive snow covering the roof and mounded in front. It’s like a winter wonderland.
The next day we take the dogs for a hike. Tasha, our snow dog, decides to explore down under a small tree and gets stuck. We see the end of her leash pulling at the edge of the snow, but no dog. I see an occasional nose pop up and we’re both calling for her, telling her to keep at it, she can do it. Finally, when we can no longer see her, J runs over and she’s struggling, but digging herself deeper instead of getting out. He says she has a look of panic in her eyes. We keep a harness on her and it comes in handy as J grabs it and lifts her to safety. I’m not so impressed, ye arctic dog of the north. Meanwhile, oblivious to the danger of her constant companion, Jema, our shepherd mutt, is rolling and burying her head in the deep snow. She’s thrashing her body to and fro, grunting and snorting in delight. They say ignorance is bliss and I think Jema believes that.
We are unsure of our path, as it tends to unexpectedly sink beneath us, burying an entire leg up to our hip. This will be a very difficult “walk” and we stop to discuss whether to continue. Just then, a group of snowshoers appear and ask if we’re ok. As they pass, I ask them if it’s ok for us to follow their trail. Seems like they will be compressing the snow and it will make travel easier for all 4 of us. They don’t mind. We’re delighted and give them some time to get ahead, then start on our way. It’s still rather unpredictable in spots, but much easier to move. The dogs are particularly grateful. We travel along, Jema, then Tasha, then J, while I bring up the rear, stretching my steps to match strides with my long-legged man.
We’re both sweating and our boots and pants are getting very wet, but we’re exhilarated. The trail leads us down to the river where you cannot tell the land from the water. There are all sorts of animal tracks in the snow, but the dogs are just as curious as we are, so they disturb them before we can get a good look. The deer tracks are obvious, but one set is a series of leaps across the ice. My mind imagines fox, mountain lion, lynx. I guess I’ll never know for sure. We continue our loop through the woods and along the river. There’s a whole herd of deer standing in the middle of the river. We’re told they do that so they can see their predators coming.
We finally scramble up a steep embankment, both of us getting stuck along the way. We emerge on top of the mound that lines the roadway, putting our fists up in the air like Rocky and smiling triumphantly. The dogs sleep the rest of the retreat. For them, it was almost like swimming through the snow. They rest well and so do we.
Here are J's photos from the weekend
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