 Watching from my perch in the Weather Observation Station as the DC6 takes off to head back to Base. I walk to the Weather Observation Station in the morning sun. The air is finally still after several days of 30 - 50+ mph winds. Snow crunches underfoot and the only other sounds breaking the silence are scratchy caws coming from Heckle and Jeckle; the two ravens who’ve made their home here at the radar site. The Weather Station sits up on a hill overlooking the airfield. Windows, that face toward the North, East and South, open up to the view of the surrounding mountains. I start the morning placing calls to Headquarters and the US Naval Observatory. I make notations in the log book and then I record and forward the day’s first weather observation. And, I contentedly sit back in my chair and watch the elements at their work. As a youth, I romanticized the idea of working in a Fire Observation Tower. I dreamt of keeping watch over the forest and living peacefully in a cabin enjoying a rustic life. Though observing and disseminating weather obs to military pilots does not equate with monitoring the wilderness for fire hazards, the quiet solitude of the Weather Station and working amidst the vastness of nature seems vaguely in keeping with my adolescent imaginings. Communal living at the radar sites contrasts starkly with my desire for the rustic, but with half the year off, I’ve the freedom to explore the wilds at will. When the weather breaks between winter storms, I bundle up against the cold and venture off to photograph cloud formations and the way light and shadow play against the mountains and of trees laden with snow. I follow the swath the dozer plows up the mountain to Top Camp and as I climb, I give thanks as I breathe in the glory of the vista that lays below. Not long ago I worked in an industry governed by contracts upheld by State and Federal Statutes. For 15 years, I sat at a desk where I scrambled to keep up with the call volume, the walk-in-clientele and the barrage of emails clogging my inbox. Almost daily I’d contend with people who did not understand the contracts they signed, paid for and committed to. Often, in an attempt to educate, I met with deaf ears, hostility and personal affronts. Oddly, I value this season in my life . . . for navigating conflict and the trespass of boundaries was not my strength. But - I learned, I learned to stand up, I learned to speak up. And, I owe this hard won education primarily to this time of great challenge working in a predominately contentious environment. Now, I fly to remote locations to work in isolated areas away from, what feels like, the rocketing pace and unnecessary pressures of city living. Here, I am learning new skill sets and facing unique challenges and growing in ways attributed solely to this situation. Life unfolds in ways we do not always understand and most certainly in ways we do not always desire. But I’ve learned that, though I do not always receive what I want, each day offers me what I need to grow as a person. With perspective properly aligned, life is very good.
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 A Grand Attempt The day starts calmly enough. We hitch the trailer to the truck and drive 70 miles to meet with a friend to spend the day snow machining. But . . . when we arrive at our destination, the keys to the machines are back at the house. We all laugh at this discovery and then set to concocting an alternate plan for the day. We drive to the Tug for Taco Tuesday and chat and play music on the juke box and watch, from the warmth, as the snow falls on the other side of the window. Driving southbound on the Glenn Highway toward home, a vehicle speeds past in the lane to our left. At maybe a distance of four or so car lengths ahead of us, the truck starts to fishtail on the ice . . . and then slide directly in front of us. It crosses our lane, goes airborne, spins around and flashes its headlights through our windshield, flips onto its side and throws snow and metal sparks up into the air as it skids across the lane to our right. It continues down an embankment and stops at the bottom where it lays on its side. With hearts pounding, we pull to the side of the highway, call 911 and go to check on the driver. Pieces of the truck lay strewn atop of the snow. A tow truck pulls over and offers to assist. The driver of the truck climbs out of his window, wraps up in a sleeping bag to protect himself against the 12 degree temperature and stands silent in the aftermath. His dog appears dazed but unharmed. The police arrive and when we are no longer needed, we drive off into the dark - on high alert and adrenaline still surging. With what could have been certain death or dismemberment had we collided head on with this truck, my mind cannot fathom the full extent of the peril we narrowly escaped. Even days later, it all still feels so surreal. Later, the night of the accident, in the quiet of my thoughts, some of the lyrics to a song I’ve not listened to in many years came to my mind: “God only knows the times my life was threatened just today. A reckless car ran out of gas before it ran my way. Near misses all around me, accidents unknown, Though I never see with human eyes the hands that lead me home. But I know they're all around me all day and through the night. When the enemy is closing in, I know sometimes they fight To keep my feet from falling, I'll never turn away. If you're asking what's protecting me, then you're gonna hear me say: Got His angels watching over me, every move I make, Angles watching over me!” I pull the song up online and as I listen to “Angels” preformed by Amy Grant, tears fall as I thank God for divine protection and sweet grace.  A Near Miss - February 1, 2022 |
AuthorI credit my love of the outdoors to two major influences: Dad and Aunt Jan. Archives
October 2024
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