So I started 2019 just as I began 2018, spending the day outside. Last year I was finishing a hike in the Grand Canyon. I didn't go this year, but my friends reported hiking out a day early--travesty! The snow is so good here that all of us are thrown into a sort of winter mania. I've been snowshoeing and skiing so much, with friends I never get to go with because I am always working, that I feel really tired and in need of rest. It is a good problem to have.
|Freshly groomed Canal road-good for fast skiing|
One day L and I skied out her back door and way up to the sky, breaking trail as we went. On the way, she talked about a place called the Floor, where someone had begun work on a cabin far, far up a road in the woods. They got as far as the floor and never came back.
|Beautiful deep snow|
"It's pretty far up there," L said. We stared at the deep snow around us. It was hard work pushing through, and it would be quite the snowplow on our skinny skis to get back down. I was prepared to turn around in disappointment, but we pushed on. And then there we were, at the Floor. If only it could talk.
Since it had been built, trees had grown up, blocking much of the view of the valley. But still. I imagined someone discovering this place, picturing their cabin. It would be a retreat; nobody would ever bother you up there.
Where were those people today and what became of their dream? Most locals I asked know where the Floor is, but all they know was that it was built twenty to thirty years ago and the owners never returned. "There's other foundations up there too," Joe says, remnants of dreams.
Fascinating. I wish I knew what happened.