Rufus In A Winter Wonderland

We had another five inches or so of snow over the weekend.  Rufus and I emerged from the cabin this morning to find a nice layer of powder over all.  The winds had died down to a polite breeze and the sun was out in all its glory, the snows shining in reply. 

To look at him, you would not necessarily consider my dog a snow dog.  Although he’s not a small, yippy sort of dog, he is also not so tall or broad as a retriever or a husky.  And he is more a short hair sort of dog than those other breeds.  Still, for all that, it is a wonder to watch him run up and down the hill and go plowing through the drifts.  There is a bank of snow that runs along a stretch of the cabin’s path to the main road where the snow is nearly as tall as me.  It has been Rufus’ crowning achievement (as it were) to leap upon that particular drift without sinking into its depths.  All the while, there is such a pure joy in his manic wanderings through the snow that is wonderful to observe. 

We are in the last week of our sojourn on Casper Mountain.  Come Friday, and the folks at Sonny’s RV will be pulling our Cecilia out of storage and de-winterizing her.  They will fill her with propane, make sure all the tanks and lines are clean and ready, and generally make her ready once again to hit the road.  Throughout the week, whenever weather is most friendly, we will be hauling two or three boxes of supplies out of the cabin and back into town, back into the RV.  By Saturday, we look to be all loaded back in.  The plan is to spend Saturday night in Sonny’s RV park, then to head out first thing on Sunday, back to Denver. 

It has been a good stay on Casper Mountain.  The cabin has its own personality, a reflection of the man who built it.  It is a little like Hogwarts, in that you can turn around and suddenly find another room or compartment that you had not noticed before.  And nearly every room has at least one bookshelf or more.  The books are an eclectic mix, although they lean heavily on issues of philosophy, religion, spirituality and mysticism.  But there are scientific books of all manner as well, and histories and mysteries.  One could spend a good year or more trying to wander through Warren Weaver’s library. 

Getting back on the road, I will remember building fires every day (I finally got the trick of the pot belly stove in the main hall, and even managed one day of reviving the fire from the live coals left from the night before, and did not have to use one stick of wood the whole day; something of an accomplishment and a measure of how far I’d come in learning the finer points of that stove).  I wonder if I will ever get the coal dust out of the lines of my hands.  I will remember having great chunks of time to play the guitar, work on my novel, organize the next leg of our tour, and spend some delicious spans of time sitting in one of the stuffed chairs reading. 

We will leave behind several new friends that we will look forward to seeing again in a few months’ time.  And we are seriously considering doing something like this again next winter.  I’ve got a feeling Rufus would be up for it. 

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