March 08
Sitting here in my easy chair at Wilson Manor, listening to the wind growl
and complain outside, I remember the concert at the Folklore Coffee
House back in December. I had the audacity to point out to a rather
sleepy audience that the sun had set that day one minute later than the day
before, a fit of optimism which garnered a smattering of applause. If I had
known what a long winter was still ahead, I might have kept it to myself.
But it has been good to have a real, bona fide winter for a change, with
actual snow on the ground and some periods of good old fashioned life-
threatening cold. It is even better to speak of this grand and glorious
winter in the past tense. More unjustified optimism? Almost certainly.
Now we’re into the ugliest time of year. Old Man Winter, with his shiny
white covers, seems to have packed his bags and shoved off, but Spring
hasn't quite made it into town yet. So the world is a million shades of
brown, gray, and dull yellow. But it’s endurable, because we all know what
comes next. Yesterday there was a scent of rain on the breeze. It was like a
message of hope from God himself.
We just got back from spring break. This was a road trip for the record
books. For spontaneity, we started out with an pleasantly surprising date
here in Lander, the blizzard on South Pass most happily delaying our
departure for a day. For scenery, we had no less than the perfectly named
Grand Canyon. For entertainment, watching the crazy people at Zion and
frolicking in the sand at Coral Pink Dunes. For food, Lobsterfest, T-bones
broiled over campfires, and genuine Arizona Mexican restaurants. For
spiritual contemplation, it’s hard to beat playing slow airs in the desert
while watching ravens fly in formation 3000’ above the Colorado.
Toroweap (or Tuweap, depending on whom you ask) is an amazing place
on the grand canyon. No crowds, no signs, no guard rails, no pavement.
Civilization consists of a couple outhouses and picnic tables at the end of a
three-hour tirebuster. Just the Canyon in all its glory, as God intended it
to be. That's why I like the wild places. At this spot, if you want a motel
you had better bring it yourself. Along with water, food, spare tires, and a
strong self-preservation instinct.
The camping area is maybe a quarter mile from the rim. Making the walk in
the predawn or at sunset feels like a ceremony. Like walking up the steps to
a temple. If you meet anyone else, which is rare, they are friendly and talk
quietly. It's hard not to be struck by the sacredness of it.
That might sound over-dramatic, but it's how it really is. Even silly people
who drive to the rim instead of walking are forced to slow down by the
condition of the road. Nature-enforced sacredness. I like it.
It’s over now, and back to real life. Financial planning. Health difficulties. I
am, at this very moment, hard at work avoiding my masters degree. But
oh, what a ride.
Until next time—
Tom