Possibilities and Thunder

Once again the road yawned before us.  Down through mountain passes and south towards the four corners area.  The San Juan Mountains stood regal, like the knighted teeth of a shark, lightly dusted with the first snow to kiss their peaks since winter.  Tall and jagged their stance brooked no excuse, and I could only smile with the deepest respect as I watched them shrink in my side view mirrors.  We are leaving the high mountain country and descending into the land of mesas stacked like grand altars to (mostly) forgotten gods. 

As we sat in the trailer plotting our next moves (Arizona?  Utah?  Canyonlands?  Grand Canyon?) a storm strolled in from the south.  Thunder, real thunder, shake the ground and say a prayer thunder, crashed raucously above and all around us.  Thick erratic stripes of lightening tore up the sky and touched the earth, rain fell like it had been holding its breath and could finally let go.  Our son smiled and pointed to the sky with every crash of thunder, his eyes wide.

We decided to back track 15 minutes and head to Mesa Verde.  Here we are.  Monsoon season in the desert, coupled with an unusual storm that is bringing snow to mountaintops and an icy wind to boot.  I have the kettle going now to heat the trailer, Bay is sleeping wrapped in wool blankets and Wayland is enjoying a hot shower. 

Every town we spend time in, each area we tap into, we are interviewing. 

So far in the interview process we have had a couple noticeable mentions, but today was the first real contender we have had.  When we began this adventure, I thought for sure that Southern Oregon would be my choice of where to move to.  I have been surprised by what has moved me and where I can now imagine living.

A town in southern Colorado has grabbed us both and we are heavily considering what it would be like to live there.  I have lived on the ocean or within 35 minutes of the sea my entire life.  The ocean is my church.  I am accustomed to a rather Mediterranean climate, where the elements are fairly gentle.  I am thoroughly aware of the seasonal transitions, the changing of leaves, the absence of birdsong in winter that erupts into a wild cacophony in spring, the way fog rolls in and when, all these things and so many more tell the story of changing seasons. 
Being in Colorado, I was on a walk with my girlfriend who freaked out seeing two yellow aspen leaves on the ground.  Seasonal change here is a big fucking deal.  Snow.  Ice.  Frozen soil and pipes.  Below zero temperatures.  I am not intimate with any of these details.  I am a California girl born and raised.  Winters that send people into wild exclamations upon seeing two fallen yellow aspen leaves are foreign to me. 

The people we’ve spent time with in this area are ranchers, extreme runners, extreme mountain bikers, deeply dedicated outdoors people who use each season to its fullest extent.  Hearty people.  One man who does 100 mile races for fun.  Snow shoeing into the backcountry, just because.  This is not a landscape for the soft, it is a landscape that will demand the most from you, require it of you to live. 

This intrigues me.  I love a good challenge.  I enjoy pulling on my depths and breaking through the floor, discovering what more I possess in me. 

Is this the next step for our family? 

After this journey, I feel like (if we make it) we can do anything.  Even live in the back country snow shoeing our asses off.