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The Great Holiday Adventure (Part Six)
A large part of me wished I were up on the rock-strewn ridge top communing with the moon and stars on a cold desert night. Perhaps I might have heard the scream of the mountain lion reported to be in the area. The rest of me was quite content to sleep within a warm embrace, alternately dreaming of by-gone days and waking to wonder where I was. Before dawn I stood at the window peeking out at the still-dark sky wanting daylight to come so I could hike again. I slipped back in bed for another hour of snuggles.
When the first hint of day seeped in past the drawn curtains I rose to make a cup of Chinese tea with milk and sugar which I sipped as I dressed warmly, found the room key, kissed WC on the cheek and tiptoed out the door. No one roamed about the lodge. A light frost sparkled on the tall grasses, yucca stalks, and ocotillo. I found the trail head at the end of the parking lot and before I had gone a hundred yards a four-point buck crossed my path, head high but unconcerned. I talked to him a moment and he paused to listen before we both went our separate ways. Another steep, heart-thumping trail harbored a lot of loose rock. I took care with my steps and paced myself so my lungs could keep up with my stride. Switchback after switchback marked with stone-filled wire rounds, each shift of direction presenting another awe-inspiring scene. Soon body heat beat out the chilly air and I shed my knit gloves, scarf, and headband. Soon Indian Lodge reappeared far below, looking like a child's dollhouse forgotten on a hillside.
When I reached the ridge top and turned once more the sun had just risen above the rock escarpment, burning gold and radiant. It seemed the proper moment to raise my arms and sing, "Joy to the world, the Lord has come, Let earth receive her King, Let every heart prepare him room, Let heaven and nature sing…" The rest of my hike consumed the passing minutes with thoughts of Christmas, not so much the church holiday with which I had grown up, but the recognition of what it means to celebrate the achievement of Christ-consciousness on earth.
On my return trip I passed two couples scaling the ridge, binoculars at the ready, travel cups of coffee in hand. We exchanged brief greetings for the holy day and moved on. Just before I reached the last long descent back to the lodge another buck appeared, this one an eight-point picking his way through the brush about fifty feet away. He didn't mind me being present in his world and I worshipped the rare moments watching his regal grace.
When I turned the key in the door of room 115 I sensed WC awake and waiting for me…and he was, sitting in a large wooden chair beneath a pool of lamplight reading, his smile enough to further gladden an already happy heart. We made our way over to the restaurant for a breakfast buffet of hash browns, scrambled eggs, bacon and sausage, biscuits and gravy, and pancakes with syrup. Each morsel every bit as delicious as a mom would make on Christmas morning. We savored our last sips of coffee and tea…then it was time to shower, don clean clothes, pack our bags, and hit the highway once more.
With home easily in reach by day's end we did not dawdle or stop to view sights or eat any more meals. We kept the speedometer at a steady eighty m.p.h. on I-10, trading off the driving, seldom talking, simply at ease being together after so many days of exploration and discovery. Once we turned off the interstate and traveled the backroads we slowed to meet the bends and curve, kept our silence while we sat for some time in a long line waiting for a serious rollover traffic accident to be cleared from the highway. The ambulance pulled away with lights on but siren quiet, a sign that someone's holiday had ended for good.
WC pulled into the driveway at Casita de Luz, echoed my weary sigh and said he would gladly unload the truck so I could water the houseplants, check the yard and garden, and go for a short walk before dark. Sandwiches on homemade bread would serve for supper. I strolled the dusk-heavy streets out to the county road, drinking in the cool, fragrant air and the slash of salmon and carmine clouds that signaled the sunset. It had felt wonderful to take off on an unplanned adventure with each day offering new surprises. It felt even better to return. Bills and credit card receipts could wait. Housework and yard chores could wait. Unopened packages and cards could wait. For the rest of Christmas Day all I wanted to do was "be" at home listening to WC practice new songs on his guitar.
A large part of me wished I were up on the rock-strewn ridge top communing with the moon and stars on a cold desert night. Perhaps I might have heard the scream of the mountain lion reported to be in the area. The rest of me was quite content to sleep within a warm embrace, alternately dreaming of by-gone days and waking to wonder where I was. Before dawn I stood at the window peeking out at the still-dark sky wanting daylight to come so I could hike again. I slipped back in bed for another hour of snuggles.
When the first hint of day seeped in past the drawn curtains I rose to make a cup of Chinese tea with milk and sugar which I sipped as I dressed warmly, found the room key, kissed WC on the cheek and tiptoed out the door. No one roamed about the lodge. A light frost sparkled on the tall grasses, yucca stalks, and ocotillo. I found the trail head at the end of the parking lot and before I had gone a hundred yards a four-point buck crossed my path, head high but unconcerned. I talked to him a moment and he paused to listen before we both went our separate ways. Another steep, heart-thumping trail harbored a lot of loose rock. I took care with my steps and paced myself so my lungs could keep up with my stride. Switchback after switchback marked with stone-filled wire rounds, each shift of direction presenting another awe-inspiring scene. Soon body heat beat out the chilly air and I shed my knit gloves, scarf, and headband. Soon Indian Lodge reappeared far below, looking like a child's dollhouse forgotten on a hillside.
When I reached the ridge top and turned once more the sun had just risen above the rock escarpment, burning gold and radiant. It seemed the proper moment to raise my arms and sing, "Joy to the world, the Lord has come, Let earth receive her King, Let every heart prepare him room, Let heaven and nature sing…" The rest of my hike consumed the passing minutes with thoughts of Christmas, not so much the church holiday with which I had grown up, but the recognition of what it means to celebrate the achievement of Christ-consciousness on earth.
On my return trip I passed two couples scaling the ridge, binoculars at the ready, travel cups of coffee in hand. We exchanged brief greetings for the holy day and moved on. Just before I reached the last long descent back to the lodge another buck appeared, this one an eight-point picking his way through the brush about fifty feet away. He didn't mind me being present in his world and I worshipped the rare moments watching his regal grace.
When I turned the key in the door of room 115 I sensed WC awake and waiting for me…and he was, sitting in a large wooden chair beneath a pool of lamplight reading, his smile enough to further gladden an already happy heart. We made our way over to the restaurant for a breakfast buffet of hash browns, scrambled eggs, bacon and sausage, biscuits and gravy, and pancakes with syrup. Each morsel every bit as delicious as a mom would make on Christmas morning. We savored our last sips of coffee and tea…then it was time to shower, don clean clothes, pack our bags, and hit the highway once more.
With home easily in reach by day's end we did not dawdle or stop to view sights or eat any more meals. We kept the speedometer at a steady eighty m.p.h. on I-10, trading off the driving, seldom talking, simply at ease being together after so many days of exploration and discovery. Once we turned off the interstate and traveled the backroads we slowed to meet the bends and curve, kept our silence while we sat for some time in a long line waiting for a serious rollover traffic accident to be cleared from the highway. The ambulance pulled away with lights on but siren quiet, a sign that someone's holiday had ended for good.
WC pulled into the driveway at Casita de Luz, echoed my weary sigh and said he would gladly unload the truck so I could water the houseplants, check the yard and garden, and go for a short walk before dark. Sandwiches on homemade bread would serve for supper. I strolled the dusk-heavy streets out to the county road, drinking in the cool, fragrant air and the slash of salmon and carmine clouds that signaled the sunset. It had felt wonderful to take off on an unplanned adventure with each day offering new surprises. It felt even better to return. Bills and credit card receipts could wait. Housework and yard chores could wait. Unopened packages and cards could wait. For the rest of Christmas Day all I wanted to do was "be" at home listening to WC practice new songs on his guitar.
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