A school vacation break with my kid. We wanted to visit the snow so we headed to the Sierras. Spent the first night high up on a mountainside in sleeping bags in the back of the truck while rain pounded down on the shell a foot above us. It made for mad rushing rivers.
The next day we headed to Wishon in Sequoia National Park. There we hiked the Wishon Trail trying to reach snow we saw on the hillside, but alas, it was too far away.
So we continued with our hike.
As we were about to leave we were told by a ranger that the narrow road out was blocked by two boulders, one half the size of our truck, the other, gigantic, that had rolled down in the night locking us in. By the time we got there, though, the smaller of the two was gone. Knocked off with a backhoe. The other was so big I don’t know how they could remove it, short of dynamite. We squeezed around.
Then, on a lark, we drove 11 miles uphill, and, on the edge of an icy cliff we found it. Snow! I know that to some who are buried in it right now the idea of playing in snow may not be thrilling, but to us coastal Californians who are used to temperateness most of the time, it was. Although this particular storm is rather large.
And now, by popular demand (ok, 19 likes and one comment in my last post 😉 ) I add a poem to this post.
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
by Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.