A light snow was falling as we made our way up the steep mountain
slope. My fiancé led the way to the
place near the top where he promised we would find the perfect Christmas
tree. We saw deer and Elk and the view
became more spectacular the higher we climbed. He seemed to know every inch of
the mountain and I couldn’t help feeling like I was living an episode of the
Waltons.
Apparently he had
become used to the fact that I babbled when I was excited because he patiently
answered all of the random questions I asked as we as we climbed. How high did he think we were, where the deer
went when it snowed, what kind of pine trees were they, and so on and so on. We did
find the perfect tree and just as he started to chop it down the wind shifted
and the snow started to come down with a vengeance. In the short time it took to fell the tree, the
snow had already covered the ground. He
said not to worry because going down was always quicker than climbing up. I was
laughing and chattering as we made our way down but I could only see a few feet
ahead in the blinding snow and found myself sliding more than walking. My Walton’s episode had begun to feel more
like a natural disaster movie, so I decided I’d better be quiet and take
things a little more seriously.
Suddenly he stopped, looked back at me and then stood
looking down the slope scanning it from right to left, before he started down
again. When we finally reached the truck
I asked him if he stopped because he lost his way. He said no and explained that he was taught
that when you find yourself in a potentially dangerous situation, and
conditions change drastically, you should always stop and get your bearings
before continuing. I couldn’t remember
anything changing drastically before that time and was sorry I asked when he
told me it was because I had stopped talking.
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