Snow Load

Spring in the mountains is glorious. Everything is bright and new…waking up from a long winter.

The colors pop. Tiny gifts arrive daily. The world is so alive.

My health was aligning with the surroundings, waking up after a long hibernation of my own. Rediscovered training consistency was sprouting strength and energy within me. Little buds of motivation helped me set and achieve a big expedition goal. This adventure was years overdue as a result of my long struggle with post-concussion symptoms. But finally, I was coming alive again, sprouting in tandem with the mountain flora. Growth and blooms were evident within and without.

Spring in the mountains also delivers those rare, violent, unexpected storms. The kind where you get caught out and smacked down hard because you were unsuspecting and unprepared. Obliviously basking in the warmth of Spring.

The recent cold snap and precipitation took me by surprise. But the gloomy sky and sweater weather in late June matched my mood. By this time, I had expected to be humming along, strong in mind and body, deeply rooted in planning for another adventure.

But a slip on the ice in April delivered my second concussion. The recovery protocol is going much more smoothly this time thanks to greater knowledge and targeted professional care. But the blow knocked the wind out of me. The small, significant blooms from my winter work were supposed to be blossoming into robust, sturdy flowers by now. That was the planned and natural flow of things. Instead, my body and spirit are faltering this Spring.

I went to higher elevations to walk with the dogs and with my thoughts, bundled up in a jacket, hat, and gloves not meant for this season.

The high alpine meadows had already been blooming for weeks, but this June snow had dumped a dense blanket over the landscape. The lupine, the balsam root, and the paintbrush were bent like sickles, laden with the weight of the snow on their delicate heads. You could still see their color through the white, but the burden looked overbearing and cruel. I felt compassion for and kinship with these mountain flowers. I wanted to walk the entire meadow, brushing the snow off each one to relieve their loads

I was mesmerized by the duality of their fragility and strength…bent but not broken. How could they hold such a weight on their spindly stems? I feel like one of those flowers right now. I was blooming, growing, stretching towards the sun. Then I got dumped on with this 2nd concussion. A freak storm. A heavy load. A simple slip on the ice and a traumatic smack that brought tears not from the pain in my head but from the pain in my heart. Spring isn’t the season for this kind of load. I don’t know if my new sprouts have the strength to bear this burden yet.

I wish someone could come along and brush the dense weight off for me. But like those high alpine flowers, that’s not going to happen. I need to endure the load, wait for the warmth to come, and trust that the melt is happening even when it’s imperceptible.

Nature shows us that the sun will always warm the mountains again, and the flowers that were resilient enough to bend rather than break will be stronger after the storm.

By the end of the walk, I felt a fraction taller. And I could see some of those mountain flowers had already begun to shed their snow load, too.