January 10, 2005

• Part I

  
  

   

  
  

  When I was younger and married, packing for the mountains was always an ordeal.  And, if you didn’t remember to bring it, you went without; the nearest store was too far to drive.  Being a list maker, we rarely came up short.  In fact, the complaint was always that I’d brought too much food.  Now that it’s just the kids and me there’s no tension.  I realized this morning that packing has become one of my favorite parts of the ritual.  It seems silly, but I really enjoy all that planning and shopping and schlepping.

  
  

   

  
  

    The most fun is to open the cabin door and see what you got.  We keep switching around and, after a year, even the one the kids had last year seems different.  The new owners have doubled the prices so, guess what!  Next year we’ll all be in number eight.  They have little cabins, and we’ve been getting two of those but on the other side of the sledding hill are the nice-sized ones.  They have big fireplaces and dining room tables with benches that six people can sit around to do the yearly puzzle.  The other great thing is that number eight overlooks the lake.  The only bad thing about being over there next year will be that I’ll be up all night listening to the kid’s party.

  
  

   

  
  

  Our drive up couldn’t have gone better.  Once we start climbing into the mountains, we watch the thermostat closely, and with each drop in degree we get a little closer to snow.  We put on music with a driving beat and press on.  That first flake of snow elicits a unanimous cheer.  But the glee is short-lived, for me, as I navigate without chains.  The chains are on the floor, under my daughter’s feet. But I am determined not to use them.  I switch into 4-wheel drive and slow down to a careful creep, my white knuckles clenched around the wheel.  As we near the area where we got stuck that time, the mood shifts.  When we come to the place I’d made the wrong turn, that first year without my husband, everyone yells:  “That’s west”!  Once we reach the top, we are home free, and my youngest puts in the newer Simon and Garfunkel.  It’s snowing hard but we all see the sign.  I turn and make my way down, over the bridge, through the thickest flurry of snow we’ve ever seen up here. 

  
  

   

  
  

  It’s our first year coming after the holidays, so there’s no tree.  But it’s wonderful all the same.  I see there’s a line at the desk so I go in by the fire.  There are lots of couches and chairs, all made by the same man.  He made everything in the place, including the furniture in the cabins.  To say it’s mission style doesn’t do it justice.  It’s hunkier than that.  I see the puzzle has been started.  People have left their books and coffee cups by the chair they like.  I sit down in front of the fire, in this wonderful old log cabin and look out the picture window, to the lake.

  
  

   

  
  

  Once we’ve checked in, we trudge up the hill to see what we got.  I give the kids the bigger one, reluctantly.  They need the beds.  In the old days we’d bring everything up on sleds, but now they have carts.  We get the first two cabins closest to the lodge.  Even my teeny one is cute.  They all have wood stoves, which have been converted to gas.  The sledding hill is outside the front door and the X C ski trail is outside the back door.  We each get settled in our cabins and then go down to vote. 

  
  

   

  
  

  As I pry the huge door open I see the cat make a run for it, wanting to come in out of the snow.  They have had a black and white cat living in the lodge for 20 years.  I notice this one is better looking than the last.  While my youngest sits down to the piano and plays for everyone,  I find the movie list.  It looks like no one’s picked the movies yet so I choose three and place my vote.  As I’m standing there, the woman behind me says to her friend, “I wish I could play like that.”  I turn around and say, “and she wrote it herself.”  Good thing my daughter couldn’t hear me.

  
  

   

  
  

  After I vote I check out the restaurant.  Usually I’d make reservations but this year we’re eating in tonight.  Because the rates have gone up, I’ve decided to make all our meals.  The dining room looks empty but there is a steady stream of people clomping up and down the stairs, coming and going from their rooms.  We head back up to the cabins and get the food put away.  Nobody wants to wait for me to cook so we each make a sandwich and get back down in order to find a seat in front.  Movies start at 7:30. 

  
  

   

  
  

  The kids leave early but I stay until the end.  After the movie I trudge back up.  It’s snowing hard.  I stop to catch my breath and look back down at the lodge.  They still have the Christmas lights up and someone’s already made a snowman.  It’s so beautiful here; everybody’s treasured secret.  One year in the dining room, over dinner, we got to talking with the family sitting at the table across from us.  They were admitting they never tell anybody about this place because otherwise they’d never get in.  It’s impossible to get reservations. 

  
  

   

  
  

   

  • 12:32 am
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