Umber (39.3 — Snowy Range)
July 8, 2012 § 3 Comments
The view — the view! — from the front door of the cabin stopped you in your tracks, still as a stone sculpture, enveloped in dazzling silence, until you started to hear the murmurings of the bear grass echoing from the cliffs.
The cabin was drafty, so we stuffed badger pelts in the bigger cracks in the walls. Leroy hunted, fished, trapped, cut firewood, and vowed to find enough gold in the mine to take us to Picardy, where we would buy the very finest French automobile and tour the French countryside, visiting Reims and Chantilly and Amiens, exploring great cathedrals and small parish churches, picnicking in the cemeteries and on the lawns of chateaux.
Best of all, while we lived in Snowy Range, we were too far away from civilization for Leroy to get involved in any poker games. I planted a garden, canned, raised chickens and embroidered baby clothes. In spite of the hardships of living in such a remote place, or maybe because of them, we grew closer than ever. We would watch the sun set over the granite cliffs, and talk about how our baby would speak French, and how we would learn to make fancy pastries’ and head cheese — Leroy loved head cheese — tongue in aspic, and napoleans.
Leroy made me promise to learn to dance the can-can. We pranced around the little cabin, me 8 months pregnant, he with his hat on sideways and his hand stuck inside his jacket like Napoleon, until we collapsed, howling with laughter. I have never been happier.