December 23
rd
, 2011
Dear Diary,
I'm exhausted and Thom is already asleep. Six hours of clearing snow will do that to you. After he plowed the drive, he cleared the rest of the snow from around the cabin and stables with the snow blower.
When we arrived at the cabin, it was completely snowed in. I had to walk Gertie and Checkers up to the barn while Thom cleared the drive. A half-mile walk isn't too bad... unless you're walking in deep snow. I love the place, especially in the summer, but dealing with all the snow in the winter is a pain in the ass. I sometimes wonder if it's worth it. I say that every time we have to dig the place out, but I know we'll never sell it. It's our haven, the place where we come to escape the rest of the world, and that makes it worth a little effort.
It's snowing again, and its beautiful in the lights. They're predicting another foot of powder tonight. The snow may be a pain in the ass, but the place is so beautiful after a storm passes through. I'd like to sit and watch it snow for a while, but Thom's already out and I'm tired and in desperate need of more snuggling.
"Jesus," Thom said as we
pulled to a stop, staring at the path cut into the trees that led to our cabin, the big Ford F350 diesel clattering at idle. "I'm never going to be able to push that with the horses."
I nodded in understanding. Somewhere under all that snow was our drive. The snow was at least thigh deep, but it was much deeper where the big commercial plows that cleared the roads had piled it up. We sat for a moment as Thom puzzled over our options.
"Okay, here's what we'll do," Thom began. "Kaylee, you take Gertie and Checkers up to the stable and get them settled in. I'll take the trailer back and park it at the Gas 'n Go until I can get the drive cleared."
I looked at the snow-covered drive and I nodded in agreement. There really wasn't any other choice. With the emergency flashers blinking merrily, Thom and I stepped out of warm truck and into the biting cold of the Rocky Mountains. We shrugged into our coats and gloves, and then went to work unloading the two horses. I hooked a lead to Gertie as Thom did the same for Checkers, and then we coaxed the beasts out of the trailer.
Our cabin wasn't that far off the road, perhaps a half mile, but it was going to be slow and hard going in the deep snow. Neither horse wanted to cross the rolled and piled snow left by the plows, and I didn't blame them. The berm was nearly as high as my chest. I tried to coax Gertie across, but she was having none of it, and neither was Checkers.
We finally gave up, and with the horses out of the trailer, Thom used the plow to punch a hole in the berm while I held the horses out of the way. He had to make several runs at it, the big Ford snarling and growling as it strained against the snow, but the V-blade finally shouldered the snow aside enough to make a path. I cajoled Gertie through the snow, sweet talking her and encouraging her on. Thom took a more direct approach with Checkers and simply hauled on his lead to pull him through the gap. The horses were used the area, having been there many times over the years, and once we were clear of the piled snow, they gave us no more trouble.
Thom handed me Checkers' lead. "I'll be there as quick as I can."
I took the lead as he gave me a quick kiss.
"After I get the horses settled I'll get the cabin going."
He nodded, gave me another quick buss on the lips, and then turned back to the truck.
"Call me if you have any problems."
I watched until he roared away up the hill then made smooching noises at the horses to start them walking. We trudged through the snow for ten minutes or so as we walked down the center of the drive so I didn't accidently step off the road and sink up to my ass in the snow. The snow was relatively firm so I was only sinking up to my calves, just deep enough for snow to get into my boots.
I was breathing hard and beginning to sweat despite the cold by time I reached the cabin. I headed directly for the four-stall stable set off to the right of the driveway to get Gertie and Checkers settled in. I tied them off while I struggled to get the work alley door open. The snow had drifted up against the door and it took a fair amount of scraping, stomping and shoving to get the big sliding door open, but I finally managed.
I led the horses into the concrete floored alley. As they entered, they knew where they belonged and walked into their twelve by twelve-foot stalls on their own, Checkers in the first stall, Gertie in the next one over. With the heat off, it was well below freezing in the stable, so I left their blankets on for the time being. I closed the door to their stalls, pulled the big entrance door shut, then clicked on the heater to start the building warming. I had to go to the cabin to start the well pump before drawing them water, which would give the building time to warm so their water wouldn't freeze. Now that I wasn't working so hard my sweat was beginning to dry, chilling me, and I shivered. I gave Gertie and Checkers a hug on the neck, enjoying their warmth, then left to attend to the cabin.
Our cabin was a small structure on the side of a hill about two hundred feet from the stables. While it didn't look like anything special from the drive, just a steeply sloped, two-story roof that stopped four feet above the ground, the view from the front was fantastic. I stomped my way to cabin, then stamped my feet on the covered porch to knock off as much snow as possible before entering. Like the stable, the cabin was freezing.
The first thing I did was tromp into the half basement to flip on breakers to bring the house alive, then I loaded the fireplace from the wood box and started a fire. Having a fire burning would not only help warm the place up, but it also made it feel warmer with its presence.
The cabin was a typical A-Frame construction with massive open beams supporting the steeply sloped roof over an open floor plan. On the main level was the kitchen, half-bath, and a laundry room that also functioned as a pantry and mud room at the back of the cabin, with a large open room at the front. A set of stairs led from the laundry to the day-light half basement under the family room, part of which served as another bedroom with bath. The back half of the house had normal nine-foot ceilings, but the family room had ceilings that soared to the peak, twenty-five feet overhead. Above the kitchen area was a loft that contained the master bedroom overlooking the family room below, along with a full bath and closet.
With its polished oak floors the color of honey, and matching clapboard ceiling, stone hearth, and the floor to ceiling windows at the front of the cabin, it was a temple of wood, glass and stone. Thom had built the place himself when he got his general contractor's license, more than twenty years ago, and had taken loving care of it through the years.
I paused at the windows, looking at the meadow below. Our meadow, the meadow that had given the cabin its name. It was buried under a blanket of white now, but in the summer the field was ablaze with the small blue and white Columbine flower. It was the feature that sold me on the land and the flowered pasture had become the cabin's namesake. Columbine Meadow, or The Meadow as we sometimes called it, was the name we'd given the sixty-eight acres we owned outside Breckenridge, Colorado, about ninety minutes from our home in Highlands Ranch.
I still nearly swooned every time I thought about Thom making slow sweet love to me among the flowers that one summer, so long ago. Columbine Meadow was still unfinished at the time, and we were driving up every weekend to stay in a camper we'd bought and parked on site while we built the cabin. I still remembered it like it was yesterday, how we'd taken a break from the construction and had gone riding with a picnic lunch. It had been the stuff of dreams, the rich azure of the sky, the sweet smell of growing things, the horses Dot and Jack standing nearby watching us as we gave and took pleasure. I smiled with the memory. The snow may be a pain in the ass, but there were so many wonderful memories tied up in this cabin and on this land, I'd never sell it.
