Crestmas

Up in a pocket in the mountains
A place where no one's "just passing by"
The town of Crested Butte lies waiting
For ski-bums and villagers getting high.













Fred and I came here to spend a week,
Shedding the pressures of daily lives
Flying on skis under cobalt sky,
Cheered when the youthful pair arrives.

Up the pass then, Heinz and I,
Exploring a nearby trek, we trailed
And found the powder, soft and deep
Up Gunsight Pass - till sense prevailed.

Cooking up feasts in another's kitchen,
Game hens and steak, cookies and pie,
Champagne breakfast and gorp for the trail,
Yes, you could say we're getting by.











Laughter and Scrabble and movies we like,
A record collection to explore
Canoe on the ceiling in this rental home,
Myriad joys - we'll be back for more!

Spring escape!

Yes, Fred and I, with Heinz and his girlfriend, went off to Steamboat Springs to ski and relax.
The first day we had fresh snow to ski on, and since I don't downhill ski, once I'd dropped them off at the mountain, I went to the middle of town where Howelson Hill boasts both a small but challenging downhill area (used in Olympic training) and Nordic trails.

I expected to pay a modest trail fee but the only person around was a guy running the trail grooming machine - he wasn't collecting. A flawlessly sunny day, fresh powder, the place to myself - what could be more rejuvenating? I watched a hawk in winter plumage (white underside, dark above) hunting over the snow.

Later I read that the day before I skied there, a young man had taken a fall headfirst into deep snow and suffocated. That's why we don't ski alone, the mommy in me remarks - except I did too. But I stayed on the trails - I may be a good skier but I'm no hot dog.

The next day Fred joined me at a different Nordic area - such a warm day, the snow was slush in the tracks by the time we stopped. The hot springs afterwards was the perfect antidote to stiffness - ah, hot water!