It's been a tough time to listen to the news lately. Not that I'm a real news junkie, but I do wake up to NPR Morning Edition every morning. The headlines are pretty much all the same. Unemployment is rising, homes are being foreclosed on at a historic rate, banks are closing, and that Chevy truck in my driveway may be my last one. I have friends out of work, and even my industry, something that you might consider recession proof, is slow. A storm is blowing, and I just want to hunker down and let it blow over.
I couldn't get up enough motivation to get out of bed to go skiing this morning, so I hung out with the wife, watched some ebay bids, and read a few blogs. Someone had commented to Up in Alaska that frostbite seemed like such an old fashioned injury. I knew that they must have been from a temperate climate, because for those of us who live and play in a cold climate, cold related injuries are a very real danger. Sure enough, he was a blogger from Key West. I went to his blog, conchscooters common sense to flip him some shit. It is an insightful, well written, thoughtful blog. He writes of the economic and social concerns that the current economic crisis is creating, and hits the nail on the head in so many ways. Good stuff, but for me, pretty depressing. There just seems to be so little hope of surviving this storm.
So, I put on my running shoes, put a leash on the Heeler, and went for a run. It's a stormy day today in northern Idaho. Thirty degrees, winds steady at 20 mph with gust to 30, and, at times, snowing heavily. It was great. I love storms. I have been on Mt Hood when the wind was 60 mph on top. When I was a National Ski Patroller, if it was a stormy day, I would always volunteer to sweep the South of the Border traverse. To sweep SOB, you first had to traverse around Kellog Peak, which took you right into the wind blowing up from Pinecreek. Visibility would only be a few feet, and blowing snow on snow creates a feeling of vertigo that I have experienced in no other situation. You cannot tell if you are moving or not. Then, once you reached the SOB traverse, you headed out to the farthest boundary of the ski area. It was a feeling of being completely alone (except in the late season, when wildlife would start using the traverse line. You never feel alone when you see mountain lion tracks)
As I ran, the wind blew, the snow fell, and as is typical of northern Idaho, the sun would occasionally shine. All at the same time. I was listening to Bob Marley, a man who crafted his art to teach that everything would be alright, if we would sing, love and have hope. I got to thinking, I am a man of faith. One of the requirements of my faith is hope. This storm too will pass. I have no idea what the landscape will look like afterwords, but I do have hope.