I had the good fortune of spending my early school years in Hailey, Idaho, 10 miles from Baldy, Sun Valley’s iconic ski mountain. My older sisters had to earn their lift tickets by packing snow in the morning and then skiing for “free” in the afternoon.
Being much younger, when I started to ski, Dad bought me a ticket thus eliminating the powder-packing requirement. Spoiled? Maybe just a little bit, and as I look back so lucky that my father thought we should all learn this wonderful sport.
Years later I drove our kids to various ski mountains. Brundage near McCall became a favorite – fairly inexpensive as far as lift tickets go and with a variety of runs for beginners and experienced.
On the first go there Stan cancelled and found other things to pursue. Allison and TW each landed a private lesson with direct instruction that soon sent them zooming down the hill. On the next trip Stan joined us. Signed up for lessons he, sadly, ended up in a group lesson full of yahoos who had little interest in learning skills.
The instructor guided the troop over to a small hill where he taught attendees to sidestep. Whew, I thought, as the rest of us boarded the lift and headed to the top. We swished down and at the bottom we located Stan – still sidestepping.
Up again and back down to… sidestepping. Again and again, same view. Now that is not only not a lesson it is neither fun nor inspirational. Why I didn’t simply ski over and rescue him is beyond me.
As a result, when we gathered for lunch, he had had enough – ready to eat and take a nap. His next experience proved little better and included my huffing, puffing, and yelling, so he retired his skis for other pursuits.
Later we began a yearly trip to Mount Rose. Tickets and rentals were expensive but worth the time together on the hill. Having skied with my dad I knew it was important to be the first ones on the hill and the last ones to exit.
We would count the runs, divide this into the price of the ticket, and work to improve our priceline “score”. Trying to pass along this concept, TW, Allison, and I loaded the car and headed south on 395.
This happened to be the day that Crispy Creams opened and the kids excitedly asked for, i.e. demanded, we alter our route to buy some delights. We pulled in, parked, and the two raced into the shop. One minute – calm; 2 minutes – nervous; 5 minutes – anxious; 10 minutes – increasing anger; 30 minutes a blow-up as they laughed their way into the car. “First on the hill? Ha!” accompanied low-key grumble, grumbles.
When we finally launched our first run, I had calmed down and with 5 or 6 more trips, I refocused so that when the kids asked to go to lunch, I agreed. Delicious hamburgers and fries revitalized us and so I grabbed mitts and goggles and started to rise.
“No, Mom! We’re not ready. Let’s get a beverage.” Grrrrrrr followed by, “Well, I’m here to ski – good-bye!” I stomped out and donned my skis. I cooled down while riding up with strangers then I realized that 50% of skiing fun is the conversation on the lift. The slipping and sliding invigorate; the cold and puffs of snow motivate the spirit; the camaraderie of family makes the soul and mind glitter and shine. Lesson learned – the kids mean more than the number of runs (Sorry, Dad. I tried).
Priest Lake and our cabin offer that same sense of fellowship. Lynn and I had planned our second trip and then life tangled our preparations. Ultimately, I decided to go alone, recognizing my need for the trees, lake, and log home. I made it in 12 hours thanks to the need for limited shopping which adds an hour or so.
I unpacked, made up the bed, took out the storm windows on the sleeping porch, and settled into peace. Perfect, except for no Lynn. A serene sleep led to an awesome early morning jog, but I returned to an empty cabin. A stroll to the lake, a tiptoe into the icy water, memories flooding, but these just for me. The setting is ideal and I have family next door, but again, having the kids, grandkids, and Lynn here are what make this place extraordinary. I lonely without them.