Arrived in Fargo late last night after a few days in Spokane where the snow had just melted. It was in the high 40s in Eastern Washington and spring had sprung. In contrast, this morning, it was 18 above in Fargo, and a light snow was beginning. It was like hitting rewind on the seasons. For me, returning to Fargo is always like hitting rewind on something.
I re-entered the complicated routine of a morning in a family with two active teenage boys and two busy working parents. Like a game of tetris, Enrico and I responded to the routine and less-routine demands of getting the day started. Alex got up and showered, Enrico got up and made coffee. I got up and drank said coffee. I drove Alex to meet the state swim team at a restaurant for breakfast while Max showered. Enrico had a Skype meeting while I drove Max to his middle school. Enrico showered while I cleaned up the kitchen. In between making sure Alex had money for his trip to state and Max had his homework done, I checked e-mails and watered plants.Then Enrico drove to work, while I went for a ski.
I brought both pairs of skis and poles--skate and classic--down to the river. The US geological survey team was setting up a device to monitor the river. I tried my skate skis first. The trail was in excellent shape, firm, no ruts, and the light dusting of new snow made the trail less slippery. Pole to the right, glide out on right ski, shift hips and transfer weight to left ski. Swivel torso to right. Quick pole plant, engaging core, pushing off, the fingers of my right hand pointing backward, getting the last bit of push off the pole, trailing along for a moment before shifting hips again to the left. Left knee over left ankle, nose leading a lovely glide. Somewhere between a dance and a workout, my brain wandered out of my body. I discovered it was still in Spokane, with John and Claire Keeble at their farm.
Yesterday, after a lovely breakfast of cream eggs, I went out to the barn to admire a calf that had been born a few days ago. He was still getting used to his legs. John pointed out that the calf was only pretending to eat hay like his mother; he couldn't actually eat it yet. I watched how earnestly he engaged in this fake eating. Here he is taking a rest.
Next we went for a walk to the cliffs to see the flooded creek below. We noted the missing bark from several trees, the work of hungry porcupines.
On the way back, we saw the first buttercup. Claire said they used to bring the first buttercups to Olivia (John's mother). That got me thinking about Olivia and her husband Ray and the year Enrico and I lived here with them.
It was when John and Claire were on sabbatical to Alabama in the winter of 1995-96. We were supposed to take care of them--keep the wood box full, plow the mile-long driveway when it snowed--but, in reality, they took care of us. It was our first year of marriage, when we--like the calf--were still getting our legs under us. Being at the Keebles was a bit like playing house--it wasn't our home, yet we could live in it for awhile. It was a sheltered year for us--we didn't have to face "real" life quite yet. We had time to talk, to read, to walk around the beautiful 300 acres, to cook on the woodstove, to listen to each other. I finished my master's thesis in the fall, and flew to Alaska midwinter for my defense. Enrico was working on his MFA in fiction writing, and we both worked in the Writing Center as tutors. It was a good year.
After returning from the creek yesterday, I tagged along with John and Claire to feed and water the cows. It was warming up--nearly all the snow had melted. The calf was looking better. Clare said they would put the calf and mother out to pasture in the afternoon. It was ready. There was time for a quick lunch before I had to catch my plane. Clare, in that amazing way she has, magically prepared a Greek salad, and while we were eating lunch, we saw the first four robins of spring. Although it was good to see them and even better to feel the warmth outside, spring always makes me feel kind of sad. I like winter, when everything is frozen, waiting, and I can imagine so many possibilities.
I loved skiing around the Keeble's land in that year we lived here, knowing I would enjoy perfect solitude--there would be no one crossing my path. My mind was free to wander without interruption. I made my own trail, a loop around the property.
That spring, the Keebles returned from sabbatical, but Enrico and I were not quite ready to leave for Alaska. We moved out into the back field, where we camped until it was a bit warmer, and then we were on our way, making our life for real, no more faking it.
I re-entered the complicated routine of a morning in a family with two active teenage boys and two busy working parents. Like a game of tetris, Enrico and I responded to the routine and less-routine demands of getting the day started. Alex got up and showered, Enrico got up and made coffee. I got up and drank said coffee. I drove Alex to meet the state swim team at a restaurant for breakfast while Max showered. Enrico had a Skype meeting while I drove Max to his middle school. Enrico showered while I cleaned up the kitchen. In between making sure Alex had money for his trip to state and Max had his homework done, I checked e-mails and watered plants.Then Enrico drove to work, while I went for a ski.
I brought both pairs of skis and poles--skate and classic--down to the river. The US geological survey team was setting up a device to monitor the river. I tried my skate skis first. The trail was in excellent shape, firm, no ruts, and the light dusting of new snow made the trail less slippery. Pole to the right, glide out on right ski, shift hips and transfer weight to left ski. Swivel torso to right. Quick pole plant, engaging core, pushing off, the fingers of my right hand pointing backward, getting the last bit of push off the pole, trailing along for a moment before shifting hips again to the left. Left knee over left ankle, nose leading a lovely glide. Somewhere between a dance and a workout, my brain wandered out of my body. I discovered it was still in Spokane, with John and Claire Keeble at their farm.
Yesterday, after a lovely breakfast of cream eggs, I went out to the barn to admire a calf that had been born a few days ago. He was still getting used to his legs. John pointed out that the calf was only pretending to eat hay like his mother; he couldn't actually eat it yet. I watched how earnestly he engaged in this fake eating. Here he is taking a rest.Next we went for a walk to the cliffs to see the flooded creek below. We noted the missing bark from several trees, the work of hungry porcupines.
On the way back, we saw the first buttercup. Claire said they used to bring the first buttercups to Olivia (John's mother). That got me thinking about Olivia and her husband Ray and the year Enrico and I lived here with them. It was when John and Claire were on sabbatical to Alabama in the winter of 1995-96. We were supposed to take care of them--keep the wood box full, plow the mile-long driveway when it snowed--but, in reality, they took care of us. It was our first year of marriage, when we--like the calf--were still getting our legs under us. Being at the Keebles was a bit like playing house--it wasn't our home, yet we could live in it for awhile. It was a sheltered year for us--we didn't have to face "real" life quite yet. We had time to talk, to read, to walk around the beautiful 300 acres, to cook on the woodstove, to listen to each other. I finished my master's thesis in the fall, and flew to Alaska midwinter for my defense. Enrico was working on his MFA in fiction writing, and we both worked in the Writing Center as tutors. It was a good year.
I changed to my classic
skis, but my wax was wrong, so it was mostly poling. The rhythm of poling
lulled me back into my reflection on the trip to Spokane.
After returning from the creek yesterday, I tagged along with John and Claire to feed and water the cows. It was warming up--nearly all the snow had melted. The calf was looking better. Clare said they would put the calf and mother out to pasture in the afternoon. It was ready. There was time for a quick lunch before I had to catch my plane. Clare, in that amazing way she has, magically prepared a Greek salad, and while we were eating lunch, we saw the first four robins of spring. Although it was good to see them and even better to feel the warmth outside, spring always makes me feel kind of sad. I like winter, when everything is frozen, waiting, and I can imagine so many possibilities.
I loved skiing around the Keeble's land in that year we lived here, knowing I would enjoy perfect solitude--there would be no one crossing my path. My mind was free to wander without interruption. I made my own trail, a loop around the property.
That spring, the Keebles returned from sabbatical, but Enrico and I were not quite ready to leave for Alaska. We moved out into the back field, where we camped until it was a bit warmer, and then we were on our way, making our life for real, no more faking it.
