The world is frigid and I wonder, year after year, how we endure these frozen, dead months. It’s not these days we endure, but ourselves and our sanity.
The cold drives us to dwell indoors more, yet those who survive these months (even thrive in them!) are the adventurers, those who head out and work in the tundra, or maybe just play there.
This one stands and yells, “You don’t keep me locked behind the gate so to breathe my own airless disease! No! Here I am, free and inhaling God’s magnificent creation! Even if my feet are frozen, I will remain!”
This is the one who has conquered.
I grew up in Southern Idaho, a mile and a half from a small, ancient volcano that had blown a hole in the side of itself. “Tens of thousands of years ago,” they said. Mother even decorated parts of our yard with ancient volcanic rock. And when we three boys dug around we’d swear we’d find dinosaur eggs – rocks that had to have been! They were shaped just like what you’d think. (Only the latter evidence here is suspect.)
Idaho: The Gem State. Southern Idaho: the place where Yellowstone’s hot spot used to be, millions of years ago they say.
There was also a road sign on Highway 25, one of those historical markers, that talked about Prehistoric Man and ancient fossils. You’d face north east when you’d read the sign, out toward “Hunt”, a desolate, ancient desert wilderness filled with sagebrush and antelope.
I remember thinking as a small boy