SPRING FLUX
Tracy Schwartz
LIVING ON THE EDGE OF THE WILDS, THIS WRITER FINDS SOLACE IN NATURE’S QUIET CURRENTS. By Cosmo Langsfeld
Spring at 9,250 feet above sea level. Daytime temps hover in the 30s and 40s, occasionally venturing into the 50s. That, combined with overnight freezes, provides a patchwork cover of hard snow and crunchy frozen ground in the morning that by afternoon has become a gloppy, sloppy mess. One thing about living up here is that when the world goes haywire, which a lot of people argue that it has, it’s easy to shut out the nonsense. A closed road, no cell service, slow and semi-reliable Internet and a landline that cuts out with no apparent
reason – the periodic self-isolation that became many people’s new normal over the last couple of years is, for me, more of a way of life. I’m no hermit, but if I wanted to be, the option is there. Long days and nights on the ranch. Weekends see a steady stream of dog walkers and cross-country skiers. Snowmobiles pass with skis or split boards lashed to the side. Then the road gets plowed. I can’t figure out why. In a few weeks, Mother Nature would do for us what was likely thousands of dollars of machine work. Plus it shuts 103
