Community
by Joyce Johnson
That’ does it! I’m awake at 4:30 am, Tues., Feb. 18th, and its still snowing, That’s the last straw! I mean snowflake. Patience is kaput! I can’t remember when it wasn’t snowing! My artist’s block thing is over. I’m kicking it out; no more waiting for it or the snow to go away. I’m going to just spill and break the ice... so to speak. I have a wonderful list of people to interview and share with you here, but I have been blocked, words not coming, like my door frozen closed yesterday, with a malicious looking three foot icicle hanging right in my face when I finally wrenched the door open. I broke off that thing and threw it like a lance into the mountain of snow about six feet away. Kinda fun. And there was another one right above the doggy door! It’s getting mean out there. It’s supposed to stop by tomorrow, so if when you read this, and it’s a blazing heat wave of 17 or something, please overlook my drama. I’m still from the West coast where there is no weather in my DNA.
I confess too: I don’t look good in winter white. People tell me corny stuff like “all this s.n.o.w. will make us wildfire-safe next summer, and keep us anti-drought. [I sincerely hope it’s true.] Or some say, “wait til you see the spring runoff, muhahah.” But… we have had our runoff initiation in that epic flood a couple years ago, I say. Okay, I meet your bet and raise you with this: I have been here 40 years almost and don’t remember a local snow buildup this thick and long term. If y’all long-time locals are honest, you will say same.
Paradise Valley normally doesn’t get the temps and precipitation that our Montana North and Northeast gets. Bless those in our upstate, and their domestic stock and wildlife because they have been dealing with sub zero temps in the 30s and more, throughout all this. Our county plows and emergency vehicles have been in demand, and busy. Trucks “tiptoe” over the pass when it’s open. Our local plow man is in a hurry, not waving at us like past years, his truck arriving is an event that breaks the monotony. I like to watch. The suspense of his not running over my rock garden which busted a plow one year. Then I saw a neighbor so suited up, and padded I didn’t recognize who, walk past with a small dog and thought, “I salute her and will do that too, maybe...” I am scared of falling even in the soft snow. I will wear my boot cleats... as the sneaky ice lies beneath the snow... [Insert soundtrack of “Jaws.”]
My neighbor came over to talk rock portraits. She dug out of her house and made it to my place, yesterday, laughing at me as I wrenched the ice-jammed door open. I began my anti-snow whine and she interrupted me with “eh! I lived in Alaska, and then Wyoming. This is nothing.” I was silenced. I boiled water for a tea party. Another friend who lives high up a creek road from E. River said the same thing lately: “Eh!” is all, when I said “I can’t believe you came down the mountain in these road conditions!” My cheeks get pink, because though I would with pride call myself a Wannabe Montanan, sometimes the SoCal Beach Bum Me slips out and whines. But I’m not done yet.
My boots aren’t high enough this year, and when I step in a drift and the snow dives into my boots—I sneer. Ron wears athletic shoes out there. [Really, he scares me sometimes. But then he’s from New Jersey.] The paths we cut outside with that big, wide shovel keep getting reburied. And I peak out now at 7:50 am and the snow is burying them again! Worse, reburying the little American flag I freed from the great wall yesterday. See photo please.
Where’s Paradise Valley? Both our humble vehicles have disappeared as well as the cords of wood, and so has the creek, the road, the mountains, and the Yellowstone River. The deer are so hard up they are eating pine needles. Some are pregnant with spring babies. Hard not to feed them. My house guest, “Duke,” a senior border collie, is dreaming of sheep to herd(?) and bored with herding me down the hall in slow walking laps inside? Another neighbor, Monica, a trainer who owns the same breed, took me, and Duke out on a real long lead last week to give him an exercise break, lucky pup. She dropped the lead and he ran 200 yards on a snow packed dirt road at about 40 mph in about seven seconds. We got a glance of him yonder trying to herd our neighbor, author Dennis Briggs, who was out shoveling snow. We jumped up and down, yelled, "Duke!", and flapped our arms, and he appeared to laugh, (Dennis too) and ran joyfully back to us. Thank goodness. That breed is stunningly fast and hard working, born to run long distances, and “Duke” at ten!, still a runner, might have just kept going after shut in so long, and missing his master, and we’d have had to go after him in the car? But the neighbors say he always comes back, eventually. He is also very gentle, loving, and an incurable people-pleader.
We have Community here. Sadly, Duke’s former master had a serious stroke recently, and neighbors stepped up to support her and home and pet. She is in hospice now, however as I write, and soon will be free of suffering. May the angels carry you peacefully Home, dear friend (and long time valley resident Tanya Baker). And don’t worry, Duke is in good hands. We are softened by him, and sorta healing now, by that same extraordinary loving presence that he gave you, and he continues to give to your friends and neighbors.