154. My Heart is Full

It was negative 13 when I got up this New Year’s morning and began thinking about the annual Wallowa Lake Plunge. By 9:45 it had climbed to -2, and when I got out of the water and into my waiting car at 10:05. my phone told me that the temp had slipped from -1 to 0. Our coldest New Year’s plunge in fifteen years of it.

 

State Highway plows had cleared the parking lot, but the walk down to the shore was still snowy. People gathered without much mingling and visiting—there was a job to be done and we were intent on it. I have the loudest voice—or have been at it longest, and was the only one there from year 1, so I started counting down at 30 seconds. By the count of “10-9-8..” there were 50 or more at the shore, not bothering this year to count off our numbers or even hold hands. We walked and ran and dived in, and then hustled out to waiting partners and warm hats and socks and cars. 

 

It was a gorgeous day. The waters were rapidly steaming off the lake, working hard at freezing it. The mountains at the lake’s south end, Mount Joseph to the right and west, and the east, “most perfect glacial moraine in North America” were all snow-covered white. There was not wind or moisture in the air above the land to slow sound; it was all happy noises and smiling faces as we quickly congratulated each other on what we had done and made our Happy New Year’s wishes.

 

I drove the short mile home, looking with wonder at the place I live. The mountains looked chiseled by a fine artist’s hand, the road was packed and clear. I fed the patient dog and jumped into a hot shower, got out to a bowl of hot left-over chile and a mug of coffee-d hot chocolate. 

 

***

There was a zoom call with Turkey earlier this morning, and I made my resolution to be there in May. We had a philosophical conversation about the Covid, acknowledging that it is now part of our world, one of the many global and personal events over decades that have shaped our different but overlapping journeys.

 

And now, sitting by a very warm fire and thinking about a ride on my studded-tire bike and a walk with my dog, it strikes me that I was born in 1942, and that this is my 80^th year. 

 

I’m a lucky man.

 

Happy New Year!