While the temperature climbed to 70 degrees in Eugene yesterday, Wendy, Chris, Sylvan, and I decided we should celebrate the last of the snow. My requests: views, snow, and real exercise. We found all three. From Willamette Pass, we hiked straight up the mostly melted-out ski runs on the south side of the mountain, over the still-matted grass and scrubby, blooming manzanita. We gained 1500 feet in about a mile, not including our personal switchbacks. We found one frisbee golf disc, one black glove, one full bottle of Mirror Pond Pale Ale, a dozen or so empty beer cans, one Tactics Board Shop sticker (used), one Skoal container (mint flavor), and two piles of elk droppings. Chris, who said he was feeling “tired,” carried the 25-pound boy with his 10-pound backpack, along with five or so pounds of other stuff. When the slope increased up the double-diamond run at the top, I ducked into the trees; the Plavix is throwing off my equilibrium, and gazing down the ski slope didn’t help.
Poor Sylvan, whose parents don’t take care of him, told us that he was developing snow blindness. “Sunglasses,” he pleaded. “Too bright.” Well, Sylvan has never kept sunglasses on, so, although we had some in the diaper bag in the car, they were, well, in the diaper bag in the car. Good thing Wendy is nicer than Mom and Dad; she offered Sylvan her sunglasses: “I have brown eyes; I’ll be fine. Sunglasses bother me anyway.” Sylvan said thank you in his usual manner, five minutes later. The true thanks were in the very real appreciation he demonstrated by keeping the sunglasses on.
We picknicked at the conveniently-located picnic tables at the top of the chairlift, feasting on Wendy’s corn muffins with raspberries. Yumm. Sylvan stretched his legs, walking quite assuredly over the snow. And he ate peas. He didn’t notice the views to the south: Diamond Peak, who never showed her summit through the clouds but allowed us to see her ski-able-looking lower reaches; Odell Butte, Cowhorn Mountain, and other assorted small mountains – Lakeview, Red Top, Sawtooth, and many we didn’t identify; and Odell Lake, host to enough motorcraft that we may have missed a fishing derby.
Then, yippee-skippy!, I slid down the mountain! Well, I butt-glissaded down three slopes. Gosh, I love that. But I might have to invest in some Kevlar-seated trousers. We headed down some southeast-facing slopes, still covered with snow. Wendy and Chris snowshoed down to the base, but the snow was firm enough that I didn’t sink without snowshoes, and, occasionally, I could run and sli-i-i-i-ide.
Sylvan wants to share a couple of his experiences with you. There were puddles in the parking lot! And a frontloader! And he saw a waterfall on the way home. A waterfall! He said it was “hot” because the mist at the bottom looked like steam. He also wants you to know how tall you have to be to ride the carnival rides.
Today, there’s no reason to wax philosophical about why we exist. I know why. To take breaths on a day like today is pure pleasure. The sky is a clear, pale blue with cumulus clouds stacked up only around the edges. Plants are growing at an astonishing pace; I think our new brandywine tomato plant waiting to go into the garden has gotten six inches taller since Sunday. Walking to the grocery store at 10:30 last night, I felt just as lucky: light rain, bursting plant smells, knowledge that coffee ice cream was just around the corner.
4/25 Update: And the day just got better. I run because it’s the only thing I’ve found that keeps me in great shape and keeps off the weight I’d necessarily gain from the coffee ice cream. But, yesterday, when I ran, most of my thoughts sounded like this: “Wow, this is a great running trail.” “The temperature is perfect.” “I feel strong.” “I love trail running.” The bigleaf maples, vine maples, and hazelnuts all leafed into the same bright, spring green, and, every once in a while, I’d get a Christmas-y waft (from true firs? Spruce?). It’s difficult not to sound sickeningly sweet and overly poetic on a day like yesterday.
