~at year's end~
As the seasons of life come and go, I'm realizing myself to be preparing for the early stages of my Winter. There is no denying it. Spring and Summer are distant memories for me now and Autumn has been most wonderful but even it will soon be in the past. I turned 64 in October and if my quest to make it to the age of 100 comes to fruition, then I've got 36 more years to enjoy this thing called life.
I have to say, those first 36 years flew by kinda quickly.
I don't think the next 36 will go any slower.
The bottom line is that it is all in the good Lord's timing.
Whether it's next week or the year 2055, He calls the shots.
Truth is, I am glad that it's already all figured out for me by someone much wiser than I will ever profess to be.
Winter~it's probably not so bad after all.
It was in winter of 2013, early January to be exact, when I made a trip that ended up changing my life forever. As fate would have it, I got in contact with a guy who had gone to the very same high school as I did back home in Kansas. 40 years had passed by since either of us had walked those hallways as high school students. Now in the dead of winter with absolutely zero experience of driving in the mountains, I was on the way to meet him once again at his home in the community of Montrose, Colorado. This kid from "the land of long ago and far, far away" named Mike had told me to come out to visit sometime.
The crazy thing was that I took him up on the offer.
I told no one what I was doing. After school was out on that Friday afternoon in January, I headed west along Highway 50 fully expecting to be able to make it there by midnight or early morning for sure. The weather forecast showed little trouble and Mike told me that all I had to do was get on 50 Highway at South Hutchinson and stay on it all the way to Montrose. It would be like following the "yellow brick road", or at least it should be.
The road was dry and when nighttime came about, stars shone overhead. The four hour jaunt to the other side of the state of Kansas was uneventful, and if you have ever driven through that area then you would know exactly what I mean. Eastern Colorado seemed the same as western Kansas and until I got to Pueblo, it felt like just one long road. In the darkness of about the 9:30 hour, I headed to the west once again as I drove towards Canon City where I would turn eventually and begin the drive that would take me towards the pass at Monarch. I was so naive about it all. How hard could it be to drive up a mountainside in the middle of the night, in the dead of winter?
People did it all the time.
Didn't they?
My mind began to play tricks on me about the area of the Royal Gorge. I wasn't used to driving the curvy road and what little light was there showed some pretty steep walls of rock that didn't look too user friendly if a car should accidentally smack into them. I remember seeing the sign that said "Royal Gorge Ahead" and suddenly this brave, first time going it alone up a mountainside, traveler wasn't quite so courageous after all. I didn't want my certificate of death to read "She drove smack dab right into the Royal Gorge one night." By the time I made it to Salida, I called Mike and told him that I was stopping for the time being and would be there when the sun came up in the morning.
4 hours of sleep later, I woke back up and decided that if I was going to do it, that it was now or never. Most of the sane people were still asleep at 4:30 in the morning but not me. I was going up and over the mountain, praying all the while that God would guide me safely through it all. It's probably a good thing that it was dark outside because had it been light, I might not have ever attempted it. The streets of Salida, at an elevation of slightly over 7,000 feet, were dry as a bone. By the time I started up the mountain, I came wide awake to the fact that snow, and plenty of it, had recently fallen on top of Monarch.
Ever so slowly, I began the climb. I realized that I was probably making a mistake due to the fact that I met absolutely no one along the way. Not one car passed me as I kept a death grip on the steering wheel of my Honda Civic. What in the world had I been thinking? I finally did meet someone at the summit. The road maintainer was warming up the snow plow and as I passed him, he pulled in right behind me to begin the work of clearing the road for travelers.
The picture in my mind will always stay with me.
An inexperienced and perhaps very foolish Kansas school teacher was leading the road grader down the mountain that morning.
That initial trip was the first of several before Mike and I were married in May of 2013. We lived there together for two years before we moved to be closer to family members who needed us along the Red River of northern Texas. 4 years later, in the summer of 2019, we moved to Kay County in northern Oklahoma.
What a journey it has now been.
So yes, I guess I am closing in on my own Winter now. I'm standing here on the corner with Autumn watching the next season of life waving its arms towards me from across the street, telling me to come on over and that it won't be half bad to be there. I used to be afraid of Winter, but now I accept it for what it is.
Just another rite of passage in this very crazy thing that we all call our life.
Thankfully, gratefully, I am glad to not have to go through it alone.
I have to say, those first 36 years flew by kinda quickly.
I don't think the next 36 will go any slower.
The bottom line is that it is all in the good Lord's timing.
Whether it's next week or the year 2055, He calls the shots.
Truth is, I am glad that it's already all figured out for me by someone much wiser than I will ever profess to be.
Winter~it's probably not so bad after all.
It was in winter of 2013, early January to be exact, when I made a trip that ended up changing my life forever. As fate would have it, I got in contact with a guy who had gone to the very same high school as I did back home in Kansas. 40 years had passed by since either of us had walked those hallways as high school students. Now in the dead of winter with absolutely zero experience of driving in the mountains, I was on the way to meet him once again at his home in the community of Montrose, Colorado. This kid from "the land of long ago and far, far away" named Mike had told me to come out to visit sometime.
The crazy thing was that I took him up on the offer.
I told no one what I was doing. After school was out on that Friday afternoon in January, I headed west along Highway 50 fully expecting to be able to make it there by midnight or early morning for sure. The weather forecast showed little trouble and Mike told me that all I had to do was get on 50 Highway at South Hutchinson and stay on it all the way to Montrose. It would be like following the "yellow brick road", or at least it should be.
The road was dry and when nighttime came about, stars shone overhead. The four hour jaunt to the other side of the state of Kansas was uneventful, and if you have ever driven through that area then you would know exactly what I mean. Eastern Colorado seemed the same as western Kansas and until I got to Pueblo, it felt like just one long road. In the darkness of about the 9:30 hour, I headed to the west once again as I drove towards Canon City where I would turn eventually and begin the drive that would take me towards the pass at Monarch. I was so naive about it all. How hard could it be to drive up a mountainside in the middle of the night, in the dead of winter?
People did it all the time.
Didn't they?
My mind began to play tricks on me about the area of the Royal Gorge. I wasn't used to driving the curvy road and what little light was there showed some pretty steep walls of rock that didn't look too user friendly if a car should accidentally smack into them. I remember seeing the sign that said "Royal Gorge Ahead" and suddenly this brave, first time going it alone up a mountainside, traveler wasn't quite so courageous after all. I didn't want my certificate of death to read "She drove smack dab right into the Royal Gorge one night." By the time I made it to Salida, I called Mike and told him that I was stopping for the time being and would be there when the sun came up in the morning.
4 hours of sleep later, I woke back up and decided that if I was going to do it, that it was now or never. Most of the sane people were still asleep at 4:30 in the morning but not me. I was going up and over the mountain, praying all the while that God would guide me safely through it all. It's probably a good thing that it was dark outside because had it been light, I might not have ever attempted it. The streets of Salida, at an elevation of slightly over 7,000 feet, were dry as a bone. By the time I started up the mountain, I came wide awake to the fact that snow, and plenty of it, had recently fallen on top of Monarch.
Ever so slowly, I began the climb. I realized that I was probably making a mistake due to the fact that I met absolutely no one along the way. Not one car passed me as I kept a death grip on the steering wheel of my Honda Civic. What in the world had I been thinking? I finally did meet someone at the summit. The road maintainer was warming up the snow plow and as I passed him, he pulled in right behind me to begin the work of clearing the road for travelers.
The picture in my mind will always stay with me.
An inexperienced and perhaps very foolish Kansas school teacher was leading the road grader down the mountain that morning.
That initial trip was the first of several before Mike and I were married in May of 2013. We lived there together for two years before we moved to be closer to family members who needed us along the Red River of northern Texas. 4 years later, in the summer of 2019, we moved to Kay County in northern Oklahoma.
What a journey it has now been.
So yes, I guess I am closing in on my own Winter now. I'm standing here on the corner with Autumn watching the next season of life waving its arms towards me from across the street, telling me to come on over and that it won't be half bad to be there. I used to be afraid of Winter, but now I accept it for what it is.
Just another rite of passage in this very crazy thing that we all call our life.
Thankfully, gratefully, I am glad to not have to go through it alone.
January of 2013
Montrose, Colorado
Black Canyon of the Gunnison
Box Canyon
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