memories # 19

                                  HUNTING SNOWFLAKES

     It was another gray, gloomy day in Durango. The winter had been a record breaker for the amount of snow that had fallen in the four corners area.  It must have also been for the number of days with nothing but clouds. It was a choice every weekend:  snow and clouds, snow (clouds must be up there some where) or clouds and no snow. During the school week we sometimes saw the sun.  Big deal!

     We lived in one of the new subdivisions of Durango.  Durango was beginning to grow and spread its size like an ant hill left  unattended.  Our new house was in the subdivision  called Crestview.  It placed us a couple of blocks from the hills that surround Durango.  It was also a new place to play and discover.

     Looking out the window and seeing nothing but white and gray, I asked my mother for permission to go out and play.  My mother, anxious to get me out from underfoot, gladly agreed.  From the closet I got the usual snow gear:  Blue jeans, heavy socks, a T-shirt and sweater, earmuffs or a stocking cap and rubber galoshes that buckled up the pants tucked inside.  

quite solitude

     Once geared up, off I went to the hills for a new adventure.  This adventure was without a friend or a dog.  Just me!   The snow was deep and it made getting into the hills and around trees difficult.  

     I set a goal to get over the first ridge.  In the summer this took 10 minutes to accomplish.  With the deep snow, the time expanded to three times that much.  I was working up a sweat.

     As I reached the top it began to snow.  Not the typical snow, but huge, big flakes.  I sat down by a tree and gazed across an open space that could have been a meadow in another setting.  The air was very still, not even a whisper of a breeze.   These oversized snowflakes drifted straight down, filling the air with a paint brush of white.  

     Looking across the “meadow” there was another ridge to climb.  I ambled through the deep snow as more and more of the flakes continued their journey downward looking for a place to rest.  

     Once at the foot of this small ridge, I hesitated for a moment and turned to visualize my route back.  Satisfied, I was now off to the top of the ridge and peeked at the scene on the other side.   

     As I looked out over the scene there appeared to be two meadow - like openings, one to the left one to the right.  Trying to determine which to cross, I paused  to see if I could entice one of the huge flakes to land on my tongue.   As my tongue went out a huge flake landed squarely on the landing strip.  It immediately disappeared as a drop of water flowing down my throat.  Now, which way should I go?

     I decided to cross the left “meadow”  and began trudging toward its base.  The clouds continued dropping these gigantic flakes straight down and  more of them.  Like a squadron of paratroopers they floated and landed one on top of the other.

     I reached my goal, took pause to catch my breath and began the assault to the top.of the ridge.  Once there, I planned to stay on top of the ridge and move to my right until I could see the opening I had not chosen before.  Then, I would descend to it and head home.  

     I moved carefully along the ridge.  The snow continued to drop flake after flake without reprieve.  Each flake seemingly bigger than the one before and more and more of them!  

     I turned to my right and faced two open areas, each of them appearing identical to the other and neither of which I could see across to the other side. “Let’s see”, I pondered, “how did I calculate which one to cross?”  I found my mind asking which one do I take?  A little voice answered “The right one”.

     Gazing through the snowflakes, I searched for the other side.  Each step in the snow was getting more difficult to take.  Finally reaching the other side, I climbed to the top to find two ridges and again a left or right choice.   I chose to go right, again staying at the top of the ridge so I could see the meadow.  Once located, I scampered down the ridge to the meadow and went right again.  
     I was getting very tired and the afternoon sun, trying to break through the clouds, was less intense than before. The snowflakes also drew back their salvos of snowflake fire and I could see much further into the distance than before.  In a waist high sea of snow, I stopped dead in my tracks.  There before me was someone’s tracks mostly covered with fresh snow, but visible. “Was Dad looking for me?”, I asked myself.  I walked to the ridge on the other side and sat down to catch my breath again.  The snow had let up significantly.  I sat there staring my tracks.  Yes, my tracks.  Time to go home.