I make it to Boise at nightfall and manage to get lost downtown while poor Tater has become carsick and is vomiting all over my lap. So far, this trip is not great. Not great at all. Finally, I get my bearings in that cityscape and find myself moving North through the night. All four truck windows are rolled down to freshen my mind and the air in the cab, snow is drifting in from outside and getting in my eyes as I cut a swath through the weather and up the icy highway that runs with the Payette River. Somehow this five hour drive is turning into an eight hour adventure. I’m very tired by the time I reach Warm Lake Highway and the next 30 miles of road take me two full hours to drive. At some point, I consider stopping for the night and sleeping in the truck but I know I won’t be warm enough, even with the dog pressed up against me. I finally reach the Stolle Meadow turn off and the road is socked in with tall, fresh powder. I can turn back and find a hotel room in Cascade, an hour drive away over an icy and snowy pass, or I can creep the final five miles into the cabin and wood stove waiting for me somewhere on this little road.
I choose the little road, drop the truck down into low 4×4 and make fresh tracks into thicker flurries with a deep ravine on the right shoulder of the road I can barely see. The back end of the truck drifts out on me, time and time again, I have a firm grip on the wheel and steer myself out of disasters. My front wheels ride like squirrels through the powder, every inch forward through the snow takes all my concentration and I feel the tension mounting in my shoulders and neck as I hang on tight and keep momentum. I am sure, as sure as can be, that there’s a broad and holy hand on the right flank of my rig, keeping me lined up, keeping me kept. My directions to the cabin read that it is five miles in on this crummy road and I take a wrong and hopeful turn up the mountain at mile five which results in no cabin and a cranky seven point turn on a tight little road flanked by stubby ponderosa pine that are succeeding the forest fire that passed through here a few years ago. The forest around me is blackened skeleton. I think I see white animals passing through the blinding gleam of my headlights. The snow comes thicker than before. I’m terribly tired. Back on the main road, one mile further, I find my cabin on the left, up a little hill. I pull in, punch the combination into the padlock on the door with cold fingers, run for the wood stove, crumple paper with dumb hands, strike a flame with my lighter and watch the dry wood combust into merry flames. I know I’m going to be alright.
Outside, Tater Tot is scratching at the screen door of the cabin, I let him in and feel badly that I lost cell reception two hours ago and cannot let my husband know I am safe and I have a fire. My friends are supposed to join me this evening. They’re making their way to Idaho from Portland. I don’t know it, but they are stranded in Pendleton and have taken a hotel for the night. It’s just Tater and I in our little cabin with our merry fire warding off the cold. I’m too tired to cook. I make hot water and pour it over the dried mint leaves I grew in the garden this summer. I climb into bed with a packet of crackers and read with a headlamp until I am exhausted enough that I know I’ll sleep soundly. Tater curls up beside me and the sweet thrum of his heart is the last thing I remember until morning.
When morning comes it pours forth into my little log cabin and the light is pure as unseen holy things and brightened further by the fresh snow on the ground outside. There’s stretching and groaning and a sore back. Tater goes outside and turns the snow yellow. The fire has gone out. I pop out to the shed and split beautiful, bone dry pine, break a small sweat with the work and carry the wood back to the cabin. I stuff the stove full and conjure fire once more. I haven’t spoken yet this morning and will not speak until later this afternoon when my friends join me. All is quiet. I make a perfect grilled cheese sandwich. I take a walk.
One million wings come striking and the deliciously silly honks of snow geese filter down through the tightness of the sky and the loose weave of tree branches. They swarm so brightly in their undulating homing arrow flight pattern and some pretty trail of black tipped wing beating flutters behind like a banner on an airplane above a beach somewhere in California. The girls arrive. I’m glad they are safe. There is hugging. There is unpacking. There is chatter. I feel merry. We all do. We tend our fire. We go walking. There are snowshoes for floating. There is wine for sipping. There is the chime of laughter, quiet smiles by firelight, something flitting and serious, something solid and kind.
There is delicious dinner, pancakes, breakfast tacos, a discussion about breeding a female goat, a walk to a creek that steams and streams with hotsprings. There is the decent and loving stringing of friendships like Christmas lights on a conifer, sudden and simple covalent bonds of friendships growing like ice crystals on the river banks.
I spend some time watching: I see the water flowing, forming itself as ice when the pulse of the season passes over it. I see the river, white and splitting into crystal fragments, icy feathers, peaceful and stacked tomes of river breath rising. Under the water, the river stones are a choir of chattering teeth and chiming atomics. Something in my soul goes boom. I walk further. I think I am an animal with nothing better to do than live. Survive. Eat. Sleep. I think I am not an animal. I sketch. I make. I read. I pray. I do those wonderful un-animal things that make me special and human.
Then there is the journey home. I’m not ready to go. We creep out down that bad old snowy road. We wave our good byes. I tumble down from the mountains like the Payette River streaming. My phone blinks and winks with the business of life again. My dear friend had a baby while I was away (I laugh out loud when I see the news! I knew it when I woke on Sunday morning before she had a chance to tell me — I had a feeling.). I phone Robert to tell him I am out of the bush and on my way home. He answers with, “SO! You are alive!“
all these pictures are so beautiful. Inspiring.
Thank you!
perfect
beautiful
soulful healing…
Wish I had been there!
*hugs*
You’re a snow princess! You’d have loved it. x
You had me on pins and needles, quickly reading through your saga to breathe a sigh of relief, you safely arrived with grace and beauty!
You really should write an outdoor wilderness adventure novel. As an English teacher, I find your writing fluid, descriptive (as if I were there with you) and heartfelt. You are a natural storyteller.
P.S. I am saving my sage bundle to burn in our new home in Prescott, Az. We’ll be there this Friday!
Gosh! Thank you for these kind words of encouragement!
I LOVE PRESCOTT!
I can’t stop looking through your photos.
I’m living vicariously through you at the moment.
Beautiful writing as well… as always 😉
Thanks babe. Next time I rent one of these cabins, I want you to come with me.
yes, indeed, you are a wonderful storyteller.
a spinner and a weaver of tales.
i see little movies in my mind as your photos come to life and i hear your voice reading the narration in the background.
and it is good.
LOVE you. x
Beautiful! Have you read Mary Oliver’s poetry? I have been reading Red Bird and immediately thought of you.
I have! I quite like her! I feel like I truly discovered her this summer.
Wow! What a story! Your photos are just beautiful as always.
Wow! You’re full of courage. Your story scared me silly despite knowing that,
obviously, you’re fine since you’ve left this post! I would have had a panic attack if I were stranded in a cabin alone engulfed by that much snow. ( i’m so chicken).
I’m relieved you’re fine. And then you had a great time… that’s AMAZING.
So nice to hang with girlfriends.
keep warm! love ya. xo
Either I am courageous or downright silly! HA HA HA!!! I’ll take you with me sometime and you won’t have to be afraid. I’ll take care of you. xx
Mesmerizing… every word and photo.
the second post I read today about “coming home”
what a gorgeous sentiment
everything about it weaves beauty
love the snow, time with the girls, fire crackling,a trusted 4-legged friend, silence
all perfection
love and light
It was perfection.
Thanks for being here Cat!
x
Lovely. Simply brimming.
xxxxx
Thank you.
And thank you soooo
very much for the tote!! Love!
To quote one of your friends….
” I’m tote’n, I’m tote’n!!! Yay! S.
HA HA! I’m glad to hear it Simone! x
Beauty, light, love and wonderment. Thank you for sharing with us.
xx
I was holding my breathe almost…wondering..but of course, knowing..you got there safe and sound!! What a magical place to share with friends, too. Your photos are stunning and really make me feel I was there, just a little.
jenni
Thanks for holding your breath!!!! 🙂 And thank you for your kind compliment! xx
amen to animal survival and unseen holiness.
amen to loving idaho.
xx
p.s. sometimes i think i am all alone in my love for snowy tranquil woodland wildness.
but: reading your post, i realize i’m not. i’m not alone.
You aren’t alone. I LOVE SNOW! I love winter.
sounds amazing. looks amazinger. we’re having a melt this week – EW. i hate the freeze and thaw and freeze again that we sometimes get in early winter – resulting in gross roads and grosser driving conditions. hopefully the forecasts are wrong and it’ll stay below zero and more snow will come our way! kiss that tater tot puppy for me. i can’t wait to kiss him for myself in a few weeks!!
xo
I know. No Canadian city makes crazy ice ruts on the roads QUITE like Saskatoon. It’s the pits. See you SOON!!!!!!! xx
you are so good at transporting us all with your words, to that little nook in the wintry wilderness, for an escape. thanks for that. glad it was fun and glad you returned home again safe.
You’re welcome. Wish you could all come with me!
Ditto to everyone that commented on how wonderful your writing is Jillian! Will you please publish a book….words and photographs plume style…I know I would not be the only one queuing up to buy it 🙂 Thank goodness I found your blog!!
xx
Joanne! Thank you! And yes. I’m working on it:)
I agree with Joanne: thank goodness I found your blog!! It sure feels like a safe and inspiring haven when there is the occasional letdowns and disappointments in everyday life. You always point at something bigger, more important, hopeful. Thank you for that!
xo
My pleasure. Thanks for seeing the big picture here! You’re good for my heart. xx
excusez-moi for double dipping in the comment section.
however: your words :: The fading of burdens. The flood of forgiveness. The careful drift of compassion. The light beaming through. :: these are all EXACTLY why i go out on snowshoes as much as possible. when i’m “out there” i forget all my worldly burdens and heartaches. the presence of trees and frozen berries and snow and silence quiet all the noise.
that’s all.
oh. that, and: xx
J’adore le double dip!
You and your snowshoes……yup! I know you know just what I mean. xxxxx
ahhh, your words are beautiful. i just went on a trip myself, reading them. 🙂
I was glad for your company! xx
Wanderlust grips me again with your words and your photos. What is it about traveling and immersing ourselves in nature that puts us face to face with our souls–no wonder I long for it over and again. Glad you had a beautiful journey, despite the scary icy roads, gosh I hate those.
xo
I hate the icy roads too…..makes you feel lucky to not be in a covered wagon stuck on Donner Pass somewhere……
oh what winter splendor. sounds like you and your ladies had a wonderful rekindling 🙂
We did! We did have a wonderful time!
Well, hey there, handsome little man Tate.
I do believe, I’m developing a big old crush on you :0*
Tater Says: Crush on, pretty lady. Crush on. xxxxx
Hi Jillian! I’ve just discovered you (your etsy shop, and now your blog), and I know I am just going to love spending time here! We are New Englanders through and through, but my dad has been dreaming of Idaho for a long time now. I’ll have to point him in this direction 🙂 I am sure he will love this space.
Have a wonderful Thanksgiving! (I know the feeling of a holy hand on your car, keeping you safe in the storm – I have experienced the very same in a snowstorm once. Praise God.)
Tell your dad to QUIT DREAMING and get out here! Is he a fly fisherman? Idaho is Montana with a fraction of the people. 🙂 xx
I love the direction you set forth…the path you take to live the life you lead…most importantly, the life you are living & sharing with us. I am ever thankful to you…and for your special gifts: your thoughts, poetry, silver&gold, visions & your sacred songs. I am ever thankful to have a wee bit of you in my life. I am sincerely grateful for your tenderness, kindness, generosity, spirit & love. You keep the river west flowing through my soul. May your American holiday be blessed & full…
&
know that I send you all my love!
PS…
i fall asleep at night humming Row of Houses…
and i wake up singing…move until feel you feel it!
XO
N, All love for you. All love. All the time. Every day. xx
tell me you have plans to write a book of essays, poetry, anything!
i enjoy reading you so much. thank you for taking the time to write and share. xx
Yes! I have plans. I’ll let you know when they are FULLY afoot! 🙂
I’m not sure how I first came across your blog, but ever since I’ve been checking it with frequency and I wish I could say how many times a line of your writing, a photograph taken by you, or an idea you’ve put forth has struck a deeply emotional chord with me, leaving me with nothing to do but sigh. Although a stranger, I’m profoundly grateful to be given a portal into your (beautiful!) mind and the journey of life that you’ve chosen to take. You often leave me with a great sense of hope and remind me of some force beyond science in the world, something nourishing and enriching and full of feeling. And you bring to my attention to sacredness of the natural world that is, thank god, there for all of us to revel in and be mystified by, without the constraints of class, gender, race—all that puts a limit on most other things. I’m gushing, perhaps inappropriately so, but I’d just like to thank you a million times for providing something of such value to me and so many others! –Izy 🙂
Izy! You are the queen of sweetness! Thank you so much for taking a moment to write this. I am so thankful for your presence here and am hugely blessed and encouraged by your words. xx
Why do your words move me to tears? Is that about me or is that about you?
Erin! Bless your beautiful hide!
I think those tears are about us both and I think they’re about being HUMAN and being fragile and delicate (and other things). And I think those tears are about the connections we have and the connections we yearn for….with others….with creation……with God….whether we know we are yearning or not. Thanks for being here today. Thank you for connecting with ME! Thank you for your tears.
x
what brilliant, splendid question and reply. i’m just finishing my day with my eyes on these notes above. what fine thoughts before sleeping- a nice, easy sleep.
oh. sigh.
xo
Damn, girl, you can write!
This line tugged at me: “I do those wonderful un-animal things that make me special and human.”
And the whole piece, filled me up with good words and true observations and quiet. Thank you.
That’s high praise coming from you, toots!
Lovelove. x
AH…STOLLE MEADOWS. TO SEE IT IN THE WINTER MUST BE SOMETHING SPECIAL. I ALWAYS ONLY SAW IT DURING FIRE SEASON. YOUR NIGHT IN THE CABIN MAKES ME JEALOUS… ALONE TIME. SOUNDS LIKE A BEAUTIFUL TRIP WITH AN EXCELLENT HOMECOMING!!!!
HA HA! I know. I saw all the helicopter pads alongside the road whilst walking about. It’s pretty burned out, as you probably know. If next fire season doesn’t get you to the meadow, you may want to consider renting this cabin for a few days! Good to hear from you Esther! x
So beautifully written, I felt as if I was there. Idaho is beautiful, especially that area.
Yes.
Idaho is beautiful. 🙂
xx
Delightful.
Makes me long for a quiet cabin in the woods.
I have that longing ALL THE TIME. 🙂
Oh, Glory. I wish I could have been there with the dogs! They could have learned skijoring (very Norwegian). Beautifully-written account of a wondrous time.
x
AH! I’m teaching Farley this very thing this winter! I’ll let you know how it goes.
x
Love the photo of the sandwich paired with the toothbrush — smile-worthy. Happy Thanksgiving…
These cabins are notoriously….mousie! HA HA! It was a place I could rest my grilled cheese without worrying about mouse dust:) Glad I made you smile!
x
I do believe you’re my ‘white’ Maya Angelou! Such a weaver of words…we come away with a breath-taking tapestry.. this post made up for my ‘missing’ your words this week.. thank you for sharing your talents and making us all richer for them. xo
OH MY GOSH!
I think I just fainted.
I refuse to be compared to Maya Angelou — SHE IS TOO AMAZING!!!! You flatter me. Thank you. 🙂
You’re a beauty.
Thanks for being here.
xx
Your blog’s athmosphere, photography and the amazingly put words and thoughts about never ceases to amaze me. Thank you! xx
Thank YOU, so much. I say the very same thing about your space. 🙂
just stumbled upon your blog and spent a few lovely minutes with this post, can’t wait to come back for more. I’m from Idaho and I miss it. Your words brought that back to me and reminded me I need to spend more time there, that the Idaho backcountry is beautiful in the winter. I now live in Utah, but it’s not the same…still beautiful, but not as raw and unchecked as Idaho.
Ahhhh…thanks for this.