Snowshoeing up a steep ridgeline with Carolyn this past weekend, tucking our scarves tighter into our hoods, leaning into the wind, and flushed with the sting of icy flakes pelting our cheeks, we celebrated once more the kind of adventure that makes me appreciate my favorite ladies. Though we aren't blessed with the carefree lifestyle that might permit one adventure after another, we make do. Mostly we take away from these adventures stories to laugh at down the road, like the the time we shared a voyage with a dog (love you Sam!) who dribbled—yes, pee—into our canoe for three days.
But I digress.... Having just seen the volume of snow at Mt. Baker this past weekend, it's hard to believe in just a few short months, the snow will give way to tiny spring mushrooms and Indian Pipe, then the gentle pinks of salal and salmonberries, then by September, the corpulent deciduous leaves of a greedy late summer growth. That's when these were taken, in the middle age of summer, when rivers no longer gnash their teeth, and the summer throngs have hung up their ambition for steady day jobs. Sigh...
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