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Show jxs: MdPMimitanim by Nan Chalat It's not so bad out thereafter all With the wind howling across the pasture and singing through the barbed wire, the great outdoors seemed a little overwhelming last weekend. The wind-driven snow curled 1 over the woodpile swirled around the house ' anflTMa'glmist the windows. ' I was relieved Saturday when my ski partner part-ner came over with her knitting instead of her skis. Discretion, we decided, was definitely defi-nitely the better part of valor . While we sat sipping tea and tending the soup pot a few travelers fought their way through the snow drifts on the highway. The plows passed at regular intervals but the wind and the snow undid their work behind them. The horses along the road stood shoulder to shoulder behind whatever shelter they could find the cattle huddled against the barn. For the most part my usually restless dogs were content to lounge by the wood stove, but from time to time they ambled over to the back door asking to go out. When I let them back inside their eyebrows were plastered with snow and we stood back while they shook themselves off. The fresh flakes sizzled siz-zled when they hit the stove and after a while I gave up hoping that the storm would pass before nightfall. I was right. The blizzard just seemed to pick up momentum. The trees swayed, the dogs decided to hibernate for the rest of the night and I ventured out only to gather kindling kin-dling for the morning. The wind relentlessly sought out ways to sneak into the house until the drafts forced me to bed early. The next morning I took one look at the arctic arc-tic landscape across the valley and decided that it would be wise once again to hole up at home. But another friend who is much more vulnerable to cabin fever than I am had other ideas. "Hey, the snow's perfect. Let's go. Get your stuff. Come on," he said. And before I had time to point out the drifts, the travelers' advisory on the radio and the fact that it was still a raging blizzard out there, he was outside out-side shoveling the driveway. He-called several other friends who politely declined, and I hoped that they could talk some sense into him. But when he put a pair of climbing skins on my skiis I knew I was in trouble. The drive, of course, was harrowing. In town, most of the buildings were beginning to look like igloos, and even in the broad daylight the oncoming cars had their headlights on. Over the radio we heard that the lifts at the ski area had been forced to close. But that just got my friend more excited. ex-cited. He had no intention of turning back. I felt doomed. Fortunately he had chosen a fairly protected protec-ted canyon, but it was still windy and the snow was deep. As we began to climb, however, I started to warm up to the whole idea. The evergreens were laden with pillows of powder, each acorn on the scrub oaks carried a small stack of snow and the town below was barely visible. As the climb grew steeper I got warmer and the dogs were delighted to be tunneling up and down in our tracks. Suddenly a very localized whirlwind of snow appeared on the ridge and began weaving toward us. It looked like some sort of genie who was obviously having a lot of fun. Twice we thought we detected the tip of a ski pole and for a moment a hat emerged but the apparition was gone in a minute. At the top of the first knoll we turned around to try our luck going down. First my skis disappeared and I began to pick up speed. Then my knees disappeared. As my pockets and ears filled up with snow, I grinned grin-ned and decided that it wasn't so bad outside after all. |