Sitting here, in my oversized brown faux leather chair, cuddled up in my plush, tan snuggie with my moccasin slippers on my feet, the avalanche bombs roar in the background, only slightly shaking my second floor apartment. The bombs go off more often than my lips meet the edge of my nostalgic ceramic mug for a sip of coffee.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
Sip. Ahhh.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
The engine from the snow plow ignites once again, likely after a quick bathroom or smoke break for its operator, bringing the other instrument of the mountain symphony to my ears.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Every time a heavy machine drives in reverse I hear that tune. The beeps and the booms in the early morning are the whispers in my ear that tell me, “today is going to be a good day on the mountain.” This environment has a strong juxtaposition of harsh, intense noise and peaceful, calm, silence. The night before, when that magical dust from the sky starts to fall, one becomes engulfed in a world of quiet, as if the snowflakes insulate one’s ears from all other sounds. Then, the purity and freshness of the snow filters out any smells. Even when you stick your tongue out to invite the clouds’ tiny angels to dance on your tastebuds, the expectation of flavor actually neutralizes to nothing.
What is one left with? Only sight and touch. The gentle storm focuses your mind on the only two senses that are taking in interesting and varied information – what you see and what you feel.
You see beauty. Your eyes zoom in on each flake distinguishing the unique features – the holes, the edges and the shapes. As you pan out, your world becomes draped and sprinkled with white magic. In between, all is a transparent curtain of safety and wonder – a constant trickling of speckled white. The air is dressed in playful white polka dots, the ground in relaxing white silk pajamas, and the trees are dressed in luxurious glittering diamonds.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Sip. Boom!
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Another instrument of the mountain symphony crawls into my ears, bringing me back to the present moment – the trickling river just outside my window.
Shhh. Shhh. Shhh. Shhh.
This auditory tune is both constant and seemingly distant, with its soft and mellow tone – a reminder of the changes in time, but also the dependability of each resource working together. Today, I can still both hear the stream and see it. After a few heavy storms, the visual of the water will be fully covered by winter’s coat, and the trickle will remain as a player of the song of the land. Still moving and still feeding and cleaning our previous flora and fauna, the stream remains.
Boom! Boom!
Sip.
I walk to the window and watch the alpine water race through the granite rocks. In the distance, beyond the tall green, brown and grey trees, blue skies melt away thin white clouds. Out the window to the right, volcanic layered cliffs are deliciously dusted like a chocolate cake topped with powdered sugar.
Towards the mountain, where employees and customers alike now gather, eager for chair lifts to open, the sun sits just above the ridge. Clouds float away from the sun, progressing in their soar across the blue skies, over the volcanic cliffs, and towards the lake, just beyond.
Boom! Boom!
Sip.
Shhhh. Shhhh. Shhhh.
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Employees are already onto their second mug of coffee, due to the early morning start that such glorious weather demands, while customers finish their first and only cup of coffee. They walk onto the snow, waddling awkwardly in stiff, tight boots, carrying their prized gear under armpits and over shoulders. Employees are stationed, doing last tests, logging into machines, corralling people into lines, and taking one last line down each run, making final checks of the terrain.
Click. Click. Click.
The ratchets on the snowboard binding straps are tightened, only on one foot.
Snap. Snap.
The ski boots clip into each binding.
Swoosh. Swoosh. Swoosh. Swoosh.
Snow pants and snow jackets rub as legs and arms glide and skate bodies into the lift lines, marked with orange ropes, black signs, and red poles.
BOOM! BOOM!
(Silence)
The last of the avalanche bombs are louder and stronger, this time fully shaking my apartment, while also shaking everyone at the base of the mountain into a frenzy of excitement. The silence immediately after the loudest bomb is palpable. The roar echoes for what feels like a minute, but is actually five or 10 seconds, slowly dissipating into the arms of the mountain. For those first few seconds, between the last echo and what is next, this world becomes still and silent, once again. Nothing moves. Nothing speaks. The music pauses all around.
Silence. Peace. Stillness.
Woooooooh! Yeaaaaah! Owwwwww! Wooooh!
The hoops and hollers, from both customers and employees alike, which have already been echoing down the roads and through the village this morning, now erupt louder in response to the shakes from the avalanche bombs just as the clock ticks closer and closer to the moment the lift operators remove the large red “closed” banner from the front of the lift line.
Click. Click. Click.
Snap. Snap.
Swoosh. Swoosh. Swoosh. Swoosh.
Boop-boop-boop-boop.
Boop-boop-boop-boop.
The ticket scanner joins the rhythm of the mountain symphony, making each person in line, and each person working to open this mountain, proud to have a piece of plastic, that gives them access to such an incredible, special place.
Smiles light up the scene – the only physical feature of a rider’s body visible while laden with all the proper snow gear. We all come to find that this feature is actually the most crucial part to see, as it spreads the most love, appreciation, and stoke to others.
Slap! Slap!
Five fingers and a palm clasp together with another’s five fingers and palm, adding the adrenaline inducing sound of cymbals to our mountain symphony.
The moment has come, and the banner is peeled back by two employees in blue outfits.
Woooooooooohoooooo! Yewww!
Slap! Slap!
Swoosh. Swoosh. Swoosh.
Boop-boop-boop-boop.
Boop-boop-boop-boop.
Swoosh. Swoosh. Swoosh.
Vrrrrrrrrrr. Vrrrrrrrrrrr.
The chair lifts spin, as the hoops and hollers increase in volume and distance. You sit on the chairlift, adjust your gear, pull down the guard rail, and then let out one long breath, in and out.
Huuuuuuuuuuh.
Ahhhhhhhhhhh.
Relaxing into your seat, the symphony quiets to only a gentle whisk of the wind. Your visual intake is overwhelming with a 360 degree view of that majestic white substance hugging every rock, tree and hillside. You become filled with peace, every thought or care outside of this mountain world melts away. The spirit of the mountain tickles your fingertips and your nose, bringing excitement into your loins.
You are halfway up the chairlift ride and you see the top of the ridgeline, scanning your view from the left to the right, and back again, soaking up what is ahead.
Yeewwwww!
Wooooohoooo!
Yeaaaaaah!
Owwwwww!
The four people who were on the first chair perform a gliding downhill ballet, carving in and out of each others’ lines, various colors from their outfits and gear interweaving and painting a masterpiece on the mountain. Smooth, centered and pumped full of physical strength, all four people enter a flow state, perfectly focused and challenged at the same time, mentally high on the internal productions of human biology.
You exit the chairlift, slide down the ramp, and curve right, to the top of the main run. Looking down the pure white slope, you nod to the track ahead of you. “Let’s do this,” you say out loud, to no one but yourself. Those who hear you nod to you, then the slope, showing acknowledgement and understanding. By turn three, your own vocal chords add another instrument to the mountain symphony, along with each edge of your planks, throwing barrel roll waves of white confetti up and over your shoulders.
Shoosh. Shoosh. Shoosh.
Yeeeeeeeeeeew! Wahoooooooooo!
The music plays on throughout the day, new players entering and exiting. Flashes of color add to the canvas. Shining smiles are brightened by both the sun, and the connection to the mountain and other people. The day eventually winds down, and the symphony plays softer, and slower, with less and less instruments joining in. Even though the hoops and hollers quiet, and the avalanche bombs pause until after the next storm, the music never stops.
The river does not cease its travels to care for others. The soft snowflakes do not quit dropping stillness and peace upon our homes. The mountain does not crumble. It does not leave us. The mountain remains, standing tall, changing with the seasons, as it always has. We must do as the mountain does. We are connected, near and far, through our love for this majestic mountain. Meditating on sweet melodies, we can feel the vibrations of the symphony endlessly echo off the valley walls.
Until we meet again, palm to palm, for whoops and hollers, high fives and hugs, do as the mountain does, and feel the mountain symphony beat gently in your heart.
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Original written December 3rd, 2017. Edited on April 12th, 2020 (just the last two paragraphs) to reflect the current climate of our community and our world.