It’s 12:46 a.m. and Sarah’s at the island sink washing pack plates in her pajamas while I try on various old pairs of thermal underwear and Shane sorts through a pile of gear on the living room floor. Earlier today we decided, along with Sherri and George, to hike 4,000 feet and about five hours up one of the country’s most formidable, rocky and steep 4WD roads to the very beautiful, very remote lake that sits wedged between ridge lines on the Blanca Massif — Como Lake. Later, the plans changed to backpacking in and camping at the lake (roughly 12,00 feet) and descending Sunday afternoon.Some plans and some excitement and a shopping trip for last minute stuff later, and we’re packing up tonight, late as it is now, for an early start tomorrow. Sarah’s coming along, Ryan’s staying here - backpacking isn’t really his thing. Sherri and George’s son Caleb, 10, is coming along too.

It’ll be a beautiful day going up, but near or below freezing overnight, so we’re taking the zero-degree sleeping bag, the 10-degree bag and the 25-degree bag, along with one tent Shane, Sarah and I will squeeze into for extra warmth, some freeze-dried food, protein snacks and water and tea bottles. Sherri and George are bringing vacuum-packed coffee grounds, we’re bringing chai tea bags, and Shane’s got a portable water filter to bring along.

Challenging as this will be, especially with kids in tow, I cannot tell you how much I’m looking forward to this - finally, after the last several years of good and pretty but not wholly satisfying hikes and road trips. Shane needs this too, having just found out this morning that his grandfather has been placed in hospice after a struggle with Mesothelioma. One more reminder that life is short, and can be sweet and full and rich if you let it be, before it leaves.

I debated on the camera this time, I’m not sure I wanted to haul the extra weight in the already-20 lb pack. It adds up fast. But I know I’d regret leaving it behind, so I’ll do what I can do to make it work.

I’ll unwrap the wool socks, and save the rest for morning.

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It’s fall and the light, yellow summer sheets are covered over now by a throw blanket and socks are the first thing I reach for when my feet touch the floor. The windows are still open a crack all night, and the fan is whirring in the corner of the room - not because it’s hot but because the soft sound has become synonymous with relaxing, sleep and dreaming. The light hits the bathroom more indirectly than in summer, I flick on the light now if I’m up before seven-thirty. Instead of a big glass of cold orange juice, coffee’s the first thing I fumble to make.

By December there’ll be a thick comforter on the bed, and the first thing I’ll do when I wake up is gather it around me while I reach for the curtain on the window by the bed to pull it open an inch or two to check for snow. I’ll have a big sweatshirt, old and worn, tossed over a chair or an end table that I’ll put on after the socks, and the house will smell like cinnamons and honeys and maples lingering long after breakfast. The windows will probably be shut, a compromise I’ll make for everyone else as they shiver, but the small fan will still whirrr in the corner of the bedroom.

Sometime in late March, early April maybe, I’ll inch the windows up a few notches and refuse to wear the socks, even if it’s no warmer than fall was the previous year. More chai shows up in the pantry, brought outside on the porch before early morning walks, crunching on the melting frost, and a return to evening campfires. Folding warm laundry fresh from the dryer becomes a treat more than a chore before breakfast. Standing in the growing spot of sun warming the kitchen tile while I make waffles, too.

I’ll be up earlier as summer slips in, more motivated by light and warm than by an alarm clock. My side of the bed will be little more than three or four pillows and a soft sheet, no blankets - even being Colorado - the intense, high-altitude sun casting through the window onto corners of the bed being enough now. Cutting fresh fruit up into bowls of cold cereal, setting out carafe’s of orange juice, lingering in the shower the sun is warming through the frosted glass. Windows rarely shut anymore, even at night. Fan still whirring. The only constant.

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What occurred between Shane and I on AIM over the weekend is below. Note that he is helpless to do anything but sit and listen and nod politely until he thinks of something to send me away thinking.

ME: Yes. Any opportunity to sleep outside in the sun. I’m there. It’s like climbing or hang gliding or coin collecting. Those people look at stuff as they go through life and see possibilities (in slopes or walls or drops or shine and date). I see: “napabilities”.
ME: “Oh my God… look at that slick rock ledge! That almost looks like it could be a pillow…”
HIM: lol
ME: “Oh my God look at those two beautiful trees!!… (pause)… perfect distance for a hammock..”
ME: That’s me.
HIM: yes, yes it is…
ME: I am the world’s foremost outdoor napping connoisseur.
HIM:
ME: I should start a website for outdoor nappers anonymous
ME: with a database of secret spots
HIM: lol
ME: oh oh oh! maybe like Geocaching…. only whats hidden are
pillows and a throw blanket.
HIM: geonapping
ME: !
ME: oh that’s fabulous….

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Posted by tee in photos, sense of place
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Thelma and Louise are back from the depths of the red rock west. For now. Along the way, we stopped by both the Grand Canyon and Canyon de Chelly for a quick sneak peek - not wanting to explore too much before we come back with Shane for a full camping and hiking and rafting trip, but too curious not to stop.

Verdict: I was pretty underwhelmed by the Grand Canyon. I’m sure this is because with hundreds of gallery and photo book and postcard photos I’ve seen over the years from just about any angle you can imagine - from anywhere you can reach by car anyway - there’s not much new to see from the top. Yes, it’s more spectacular in three dimensions, yes, the sense of scale is incredible and I shoud’ve have been in awe. But I just wasn’t, not with the smell of French fries and the sound of clammoring tourists in the air. What I really want to experience here, anyway, happens at ground level. I’ll wait until we can do it right and come back.

Canyon de Chelly in Chinle, however, was a beautiful surprise.

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Posted by tee in kids + pets, photos
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I sit here and I throw fortune cookies at Shane, who’s on the phone, from across the office while I pick at lo mein as a dust storm rages outside. Both of the kids are off doing their own thing, leaving me blissfully un-needed and un-claimed for another hour before it’s back in the saddle again. I’ll take it.

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