Vacation Views

Travel

Dec 29

I've spent 30-something Christmases in the Colorado alpine. My parents live on a towering ridgeline ringed with peaks, and I find it meditative to go back there once a year. To wander. To wheeze. To snowboard. To curl up in my bed at the top of the house and lay there in the dark watching the moonlight on the snow and the lights of faraway snowcats, 10 miles up the valley at the ski resort, going up and down restoring order to the slopes, until I fall asleep and then the dawn breaks all cold and blue.

This year:

This year I was especially in awe of the the winter scenery. It'd rained in Portland for 17 days straight before my trip, and so the dazzling sun on the Colorado snow was so freaking bright I could barely open my dim little eyes.

This year I rode my fill of powder, through trees and open snowfields, till my legs ached and my back spasmed. On Christmas Eve Day, we lapped the lifts for hours and then went in the lodge at the top of the mountain to warm up, where we drank hot coffees stiff with Jim Beam and ate snacks my mom had packed for us whilst contemplating the expanse of rugged peaks out the window.

This year, in cosmic observance of the Christmas Eve full moon, I made my entire family go for a late night hike through the dark. Some were more game than others, but I thought it was lovely and remain a firm believer in the magic of a winter night.