Winter Solstice Eve

Bryant announced over morning coffee that today we weren't going to work at all. Who was I to argue with that request . . . after all it is Winter Solstice Eve, the 2nd shortest day of the year and that seemed like as good of a reason as any to declare a much needed play day for us. With an official sunrise of 10:14 a.m., there was no reason not to brew a second pot of coffee and linger through breakfast. Our big adventure for the day was a snowmachine ride out the backdoor, down by the Knik River and then up a nearby ridge to about 2,000 feet. We set our departure time for the crack of noon, which ironically has become our summer default departure time with the sailboat. The only difference is that now we have about 3 1/2 hours of daylight to enjoy the outdoors instead of the 11 1/2 hours we receive on the eve of summer solstice.

Yesterday, while I was finishing up my last day of school for the year, Bryant worked on snowmachines. Seeing as I could now start the machine, I figured something he did worked. We headed out on a trail in our backyard, crossed the highway, and road down to the mostly frozen Knik River. While cruising on the river bottom, we spotted a bull moose, which of course is nowhere to be seen during moose season. As Bryant stopped to take a picture of the bull moose, two other young moose came running out from the scrubby trees and joined the bull moose. Eventually they all ran off into the woods, and we continued on our ride.

The trail meanders by the river bottom for about 3 miles, crosses the highway again and heads up into the mountains. It isn't long before the trail works its way out of the cottonwoods and birch and into the alders each section a little steeper pitch than the one before. Just as I was beginning to wonder if the old Arctic Cat 440 Panther had the power to complete the climb, I reached our usual stopping spot on a clearing at the top of a knoll.

My plan was to stop, enjoy the views, drink a cup of coffee, and eat a couple of cookies. Bryant continued climbing up to the next knoll, and then turned back around to join me on the usual stopping spot. After conversing about the trail conditions and the potential for a good picture looking down on this spot, I decided I could handle it and took off. On route, I lost track of where I was suppose to turn around, and ended a little further up trail that I was suppose to be. Luckily, I saw another snowmachine coming down and pulled off to the side to let them by. They kindly warned me of some upcoming difficult turns on a steep section and also asked if there was anyone following me. I said, "No, my husband is down there waiting, but you might want to tell him to join me up here." I had a feeling that once I finished snapping some pictures I would need a little assistance getting my machine turned around. He was right . . . . our "usual stopping spot" looked cool from up there (He's the black dot on the clearing in the middle of the photo.)
As it turned out, Bryant did come to my rescue, but not before we dug him out first. When he passed me to find a spot to turn around, he became stuck. So I hiked up the hill, we freed his machine, and then he helped spin me around. It is always easier having two people pull on snowmachines. This experience reminded us that we should have brought our shovel, and trail machines have limitations.
After drinking our coffee and eating a couple of cookies on our usual stopping spot, we descended while the setting sun cast shadows on the mountains. We finished the afternoon off with a nice hot tub and dinner at a local restaurant. It felt good to play outside and just hang out together. Sitting here typing on my Blog, Bryant walked by and suggested we declare Winter Solstice a day of relaxation as well. Who am I to argue . . . .

For more pictures: http://picasaweb.google.com/jillcaho/SolsticeEveRide

Pretty + Cold = Pretty Cold

With a full moon at night and a blue sky all day, everytime I go outside I can't help but say to myself, "It sure is pretty . . .," then pausing awhile I add, " . . and cold, too." If I'm dressed right, it's really not that cold but more often, I'm not. The gloves, hat, coat, and boots remain in the entryway while I zip in and out of the house to do whatever needs done, getting wood, starting a vehicle, or running to an outbuilding to grab something, and halfway through the little errand, I'm cold.

One morning this week, Wyatt complained on the way to the bus stop about why he is the only one who has to walk and everyone else in the neighborhood gets to ride in a nice warm car. Maybe its my parents rubbing off on me, but instead of sympathy he received "Lecture 101" about the stupidity and laziness of warming up a car for a 1/2 mile walk. Because we hadn't quite made it to the bus stop with the first lecture, he received "Lecture 102" about the importance of facing the elements, toughing it out, and learning the world isn't always a warm and cozy place. And the easiest place for him to learn that lesson is in 7th grade on the way to the bus stop in the pitch dark, when the temperature is hovering around -5. I doubt that he believed or even listened to a breath of my insightful wisdom, but I'm guessing he learned not to ask the question again for at least another year.