This story was originally published in Go HayWire: An Anthology of Ashland Writers, in 2005.
Snow Shifting
Why do they keep sticking me with the beginners? Shouldering her skis, Dana led a stocky man and his boy toward the rope tow. I’ve been teaching here for three years. I deserve better.
It was snowing lightly on a Saturday afternoon at the ski park. Massive Mt. Shasta towered over the resort, with its peak glaring bright white against the grey sky. Her morning class had been grueling. A group from the Bay Area, outfitted in the latest gear, could not stay standing on their skis for more than three seconds at a time. The class lasted for an excruciating hour and a half, the students getting angrier with each fall. Besides, Dana couldn’t stop thinking about her recent boyfriend, a firefighter named Tom, who’d broken up with her the night before. He’d already begun dating a woman who owned a house on the north end of town, and took Dana out to a nice restaurant so he could “tell her like a man.”
That asshole, Dana thought bitterly. I bet she dumps him in a week and when he comes crawling back, I’ll tell him to get lost.
In the ski instructors’ room, she’d spent her lunch break griping about management policies.
“They’re trying to get us to take off our ski school parkas and punch in and out for the fifteen stupid minutes between classes,” she groaned.
“Yeah,” chimed in Ben. “So they can save what, an extra dollar?”
“Prosperity consciousness…at an all time low,” Dana snorted, pushing a lock of brown hair away from her face. “You’d think it would be different, in the shadow of the great, mystical Mt. Shasta.”
On the beginner’s hill, Dana introduced herself to her two students and asked them their names. Bundled up in scarves and hats, their faces were barely visible. The father wore thick glasses and the boy wore inexpensive ski goggles. They had outdated equipment, and their ski clothes looked secondhand.
“I’m Leonard and this is my son, Jerry.”
“Good to meet you! We’re going to get started on the Bunny Hill. As soon as I’m sure you can stop and turn, we’ll take the chairlift up, okay?”
She helped them put on their skis and explained the rope tow.
“See those orange paddles? You hold your hand out behind you like this, thumb down. The lift operator puts one into your hand and you grab on. Let it pull you up the hill until you get to the top. Then just let go and move out of the way. I’ll be right behind you.”
Leonard and Jerry took several tries to learn the balance of the tow. The lift operator patiently helped them up after each failed attempt, until the three of them were gliding to the top of the Bunny Hill. Dana glanced up toward the summit of Mt. Shasta and saw that a bulbous, disk-shaped cloud was beginning to form around its sharp peak. She saw Jerry reach the top of the rope tow and step off. His father followed, teetering until he regained his balance. When Dana skated herself off the tow line, Leonard pointed to the peak and said, “Interesting looking cloud.”
“Yeah, you’re lucky to be here on a day with a free lenticular cloud formation. Usually we charge extra.”
“What makes it have that disk shape?” Jerry asked.
“Means it must be pretty windy up there. Has to do with mountain shape and air temperature. Some folks say the clouds are hiding spaceships, though, fueling up at the energy vortex.”
Leonard and Jerry laughed. Dana showed them how to make wedge-shaped turns in the snow, heartened by how fast they caught on. Especially Jerry. Then she thought about printing up posters with Tom’s picture on them, and the word, “Sleazeball!” printed in bold letters underneath. She could staple them to telephone poles up and down Mt. Shasta Boulevard.
“Can we go on the chairlift now?” Jerry called, waiting at the bottom of the rope tow.
“What do you think, Leonard? Are you ready?” Dana asked.
“As long as Jerry wants to go.”
Jerry and Leonard sat in the chairlift with Dana, mesmerized by the snowflakes against the backdrop of Mt. Shasta. Snow was falling harder now, deepening on the branches of the Douglas firs. The lenticular cloud loomed larger, gathering more layers of grey and white into an expanding spiral.
“Do you think it will get really windy here?” Jerry asked.
“Probably not,” Dana shrugged. “Those clouds are lot farther away than you think. Besides, if it gets too nasty, we’ll retire to the lodge for hot chocolate.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” Leonard chuckled.
“So where are you guys from?”
“Pit River,” Leonard answered.
“What do you do there?”
“I’m a house painter, and Jerry’s a third grader.”
A large, perfectly formed snowflake landed on Dana’s glove. “I’ve heard that the Inuit people have more than 100 words for snow,” she said.
“Well, it turns out they have the same number as we do, if you count things like ‘snowstorm, snowdrift, snowflake, soft snow’,” Leonard answered.
“Really?”
“I also volunteer with the Historical Society. Jerry and I are full-blooded Modoc Indians.”
“Awesome. Well, you guys are really doing well for your first day. You’re very relaxed.”
“Yeah, I’m thinking about getting us some skis of our own. How much does it cost to buy new equipment?”
Dana paused, glancing at their worn clothes. “Depends on where you go. It’s good to shop around. I like to check out the ski swaps in the fall. I got these brand new there, last year,” she said, pointing to her skis. “You can get good used stuff, too. Okay, we’re almost to the top.”
They stood up and skied down a ramp from the chair. Slipping their pole straps onto their wrists, they followed Dana to an opening in the woods.
“This one’s called ‘Easy Street’ because it’s the easiest trail on the hill. It’s practically flat in spots. Stay behind me with nice slow turns, okay?”
She led them down a gentle hill. Jerry followed right behind her, making his turns in her tracks, while Leonard kept his pace further back. His movements were more thoughtful, more calculated. He’s so mellow. Unlike Tom, who used to call her twice a day to talk about his heroic acts at work. She wondered if there was a Mrs. Leonard. They stopped at a wider spot in the trail.
“Watch me do three turns. Then I’ll signal for you to follow one at a time.”
Dana started down the hill, making three perfectly executed wedge turns. She stopped and waved her pole up the hill at Jerry. He followed, made three turns and then jumped to a stop near Dana.
“Whoa! You’re a natural. We’ll have you parallel skiing in a couple of hours.” She looked up the hill at Leonard, and waved her pole again. The snow was coming down heavily now, beginning to bury the ski and snowboard tracks. Leonard started off, making one narrow wedge turn, and then sped across the slope toward the woods. He sat back on his skis and they slipped out from under him. Falling in a burst of white powder, he came to a stop at the edge of the trail. Dana side-stepped her way up to him.
“You okay?”
“Oh yeah,” he announced cheerfully, brushing off the snow. “I was afraid I wouldn’t stop, so I just sat down. I’ll have to get myself some goggles,” he added, wiping off his glasses. Dana showed him how to use his poles to pull himself back up, and they skied down to Jerry. This time Leonard made wide, deliberate turns.
“Take a look at what you just skied down,” Dana said, pointing up the hill. It looked much steeper than it had from the top. “You’re official skiers, now.”
“Wow,” Jerry whistled.
The air was still. Snow fell heavily around them, and the peak of Mt. Shasta was no longer visible. The spiraling lenticular cloud swirled around, whipping and folding in more gradations of immense clouds as it grew. A lone snowboarder passed them and then the hill was empty.
“Let’s keep going,” Dana said, feeling anxious about returning them to the base area. “Just follow me down to the bottom.”
The trail leveled off and they walked for awhile, pushing themselves along with their poles. There were no more ski tracks now; the trail was covered with a blanket of new snow. The woods were silent. All Dana could hear was her breathing and the swishing sound their snow pants made as they slid through the deep white powder. She remembered the sting in the pit of her stomach the night before, when Tom announced his news over dinner.
“So, now I’m supposed to look at you and eat at the same time?” she’d demanded. Dana got up and left the restaurant, ducking into a side street so she could walk home by herself. Tom hadn’t even called to see if she was all right. Now her head pounded with shame, as she thought about the juvenile behavior and insults she’d let slide in the course of their relationship. She’d have to make sure and put one of those posters up at the health food store. She looked around for the giant cedar tree that marked the end of the trail. Once there, Dana usually took her classes down a gentle slope that emptied out at the base lodge. She saw some large fir trees, their branches drooping under the weight of heavy snow, but no cedar. Nothing looked familiar. Disoriented and unsure of where she was, she became unnerved. A wave of dizziness passed through her but she kept moving. Going downhill, at least they were headed in the right direction, although she was afraid they might leave the trail by accident and wind up somewhere far below the lodge, lost in the woods. Snow was sticking to her goggles and her hands were cold. She glanced at Leonard and Jerry. They both trudged on, their hats and parkas covered with snow.
“Everybody okay?”
“Yeah, it’s kind of nice out here,” Leonard answered, his voice muffled in the snow. A raven cawed from the woods, and Jerry walked a little faster, catching up with Dana.
“Are we going to get to do anymore skiing?” he asked.
“We’re almost to a steeper part. Fresh powder on your first day. How lucky can you get?” Dana quipped, hoping they didn’t notice the tremor in her voice. Jerry pulled ahead of her, anxious to get to another hill.
There was a flash of light and then a tremendous crack, as if a shotgun had gone off, sending an echo through the woods. They turned toward the direction of the shot, just in time to see the top half of a giant Douglas fir break off and tumble over, crashing through the other trees on its way to the ground. It hit the forest floor with a deep thud. A wave of thunder rolled over their heads.
“Some power,” Leonard remarked.
The three of them stood staring at the fallen fir top. As the snow settled around it, a group of shimmering tiny white lights emerged, and swirled together in a spiral. They flickered across the path and into the woods. Leonard turned to Dana. “Is that a magical Mt. Shasta event, too?”
“I… think we just got really lucky,” Dana breathed, still spellbound. The dizziness and fear had left her, replaced by a deep sense of peace in the woods. The snow began to taper off, and she could see the cedar tree marker about 50 feet away.
Two skiers emerged from the trail behind them, Leif and Ashton from Ski Patrol.
“Janice sent us after you,” Leif said. “They decided to close the park early because of the storm. Are you guys all right?”
“We’re fine. The snow got a little deep on Easy Street and we had to walk.”
“Then that treetop broke off and some snow fairies flew out of it,” Jerry added, pointing into the woods.
They could see the base lodge in the distance, its lights twinkling through the trees.
“Uh, huh,” Leif said.
Dana, Leonard and Jerry looked at each other and nodded, silently appreciating their experience.
“Well, that’s it for the lesson,” Dana rallied. “You did very well. Go ahead and ski the rest of the way yourselves if you like.”
“All right!” Jerry exclaimed, zipping down the hill.
“We liked your class, with all the special effects,” Leonard told Dana. “Next time we’ll be sure to ask for you.”
“Are you okay to drive home in this snow?” she asked.
“Oh yeah, our pickup truck makes roads in this kind of stuff.”
As she watched Leonard ski down to Jerry, Dana dropped into a profound place of connection, sensing the earth supporting her from a place far beneath her feet. She breathed deeply. That’s what I love about teaching the beginners: they’re simple, open, easy to reach. Like footprints in new snow.
She decided to scrap her poster campaign, figuring that for every Tom, there must also be a Leonard.
Snow Shifting
Why do they keep sticking me with the beginners? Shouldering her skis, Dana led a stocky man and his boy toward the rope tow. I’ve been teaching here for three years. I deserve better.
It was snowing lightly on a Saturday afternoon at the ski park. Massive Mt. Shasta towered over the resort, with its peak glaring bright white against the grey sky. Her morning class had been grueling. A group from the Bay Area, outfitted in the latest gear, could not stay standing on their skis for more than three seconds at a time. The class lasted for an excruciating hour and a half, the students getting angrier with each fall. Besides, Dana couldn’t stop thinking about her recent boyfriend, a firefighter named Tom, who’d broken up with her the night before. He’d already begun dating a woman who owned a house on the north end of town, and took Dana out to a nice restaurant so he could “tell her like a man.”
That asshole, Dana thought bitterly. I bet she dumps him in a week and when he comes crawling back, I’ll tell him to get lost.
In the ski instructors’ room, she’d spent her lunch break griping about management policies.
“They’re trying to get us to take off our ski school parkas and punch in and out for the fifteen stupid minutes between classes,” she groaned.
“Yeah,” chimed in Ben. “So they can save what, an extra dollar?”
“Prosperity consciousness…at an all time low,” Dana snorted, pushing a lock of brown hair away from her face. “You’d think it would be different, in the shadow of the great, mystical Mt. Shasta.”
On the beginner’s hill, Dana introduced herself to her two students and asked them their names. Bundled up in scarves and hats, their faces were barely visible. The father wore thick glasses and the boy wore inexpensive ski goggles. They had outdated equipment, and their ski clothes looked secondhand.
“I’m Leonard and this is my son, Jerry.”
“Good to meet you! We’re going to get started on the Bunny Hill. As soon as I’m sure you can stop and turn, we’ll take the chairlift up, okay?”
She helped them put on their skis and explained the rope tow.
“See those orange paddles? You hold your hand out behind you like this, thumb down. The lift operator puts one into your hand and you grab on. Let it pull you up the hill until you get to the top. Then just let go and move out of the way. I’ll be right behind you.”
Leonard and Jerry took several tries to learn the balance of the tow. The lift operator patiently helped them up after each failed attempt, until the three of them were gliding to the top of the Bunny Hill. Dana glanced up toward the summit of Mt. Shasta and saw that a bulbous, disk-shaped cloud was beginning to form around its sharp peak. She saw Jerry reach the top of the rope tow and step off. His father followed, teetering until he regained his balance. When Dana skated herself off the tow line, Leonard pointed to the peak and said, “Interesting looking cloud.”
“Yeah, you’re lucky to be here on a day with a free lenticular cloud formation. Usually we charge extra.”
“What makes it have that disk shape?” Jerry asked.
“Means it must be pretty windy up there. Has to do with mountain shape and air temperature. Some folks say the clouds are hiding spaceships, though, fueling up at the energy vortex.”
Leonard and Jerry laughed. Dana showed them how to make wedge-shaped turns in the snow, heartened by how fast they caught on. Especially Jerry. Then she thought about printing up posters with Tom’s picture on them, and the word, “Sleazeball!” printed in bold letters underneath. She could staple them to telephone poles up and down Mt. Shasta Boulevard.
“Can we go on the chairlift now?” Jerry called, waiting at the bottom of the rope tow.
“What do you think, Leonard? Are you ready?” Dana asked.
“As long as Jerry wants to go.”
Jerry and Leonard sat in the chairlift with Dana, mesmerized by the snowflakes against the backdrop of Mt. Shasta. Snow was falling harder now, deepening on the branches of the Douglas firs. The lenticular cloud loomed larger, gathering more layers of grey and white into an expanding spiral.
“Do you think it will get really windy here?” Jerry asked.
“Probably not,” Dana shrugged. “Those clouds are lot farther away than you think. Besides, if it gets too nasty, we’ll retire to the lodge for hot chocolate.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” Leonard chuckled.
“So where are you guys from?”
“Pit River,” Leonard answered.
“What do you do there?”
“I’m a house painter, and Jerry’s a third grader.”
A large, perfectly formed snowflake landed on Dana’s glove. “I’ve heard that the Inuit people have more than 100 words for snow,” she said.
“Well, it turns out they have the same number as we do, if you count things like ‘snowstorm, snowdrift, snowflake, soft snow’,” Leonard answered.
“Really?”
“I also volunteer with the Historical Society. Jerry and I are full-blooded Modoc Indians.”
“Awesome. Well, you guys are really doing well for your first day. You’re very relaxed.”
“Yeah, I’m thinking about getting us some skis of our own. How much does it cost to buy new equipment?”
Dana paused, glancing at their worn clothes. “Depends on where you go. It’s good to shop around. I like to check out the ski swaps in the fall. I got these brand new there, last year,” she said, pointing to her skis. “You can get good used stuff, too. Okay, we’re almost to the top.”
They stood up and skied down a ramp from the chair. Slipping their pole straps onto their wrists, they followed Dana to an opening in the woods.
“This one’s called ‘Easy Street’ because it’s the easiest trail on the hill. It’s practically flat in spots. Stay behind me with nice slow turns, okay?”
She led them down a gentle hill. Jerry followed right behind her, making his turns in her tracks, while Leonard kept his pace further back. His movements were more thoughtful, more calculated. He’s so mellow. Unlike Tom, who used to call her twice a day to talk about his heroic acts at work. She wondered if there was a Mrs. Leonard. They stopped at a wider spot in the trail.
“Watch me do three turns. Then I’ll signal for you to follow one at a time.”
Dana started down the hill, making three perfectly executed wedge turns. She stopped and waved her pole up the hill at Jerry. He followed, made three turns and then jumped to a stop near Dana.
“Whoa! You’re a natural. We’ll have you parallel skiing in a couple of hours.” She looked up the hill at Leonard, and waved her pole again. The snow was coming down heavily now, beginning to bury the ski and snowboard tracks. Leonard started off, making one narrow wedge turn, and then sped across the slope toward the woods. He sat back on his skis and they slipped out from under him. Falling in a burst of white powder, he came to a stop at the edge of the trail. Dana side-stepped her way up to him.
“You okay?”
“Oh yeah,” he announced cheerfully, brushing off the snow. “I was afraid I wouldn’t stop, so I just sat down. I’ll have to get myself some goggles,” he added, wiping off his glasses. Dana showed him how to use his poles to pull himself back up, and they skied down to Jerry. This time Leonard made wide, deliberate turns.
“Take a look at what you just skied down,” Dana said, pointing up the hill. It looked much steeper than it had from the top. “You’re official skiers, now.”
“Wow,” Jerry whistled.
The air was still. Snow fell heavily around them, and the peak of Mt. Shasta was no longer visible. The spiraling lenticular cloud swirled around, whipping and folding in more gradations of immense clouds as it grew. A lone snowboarder passed them and then the hill was empty.
“Let’s keep going,” Dana said, feeling anxious about returning them to the base area. “Just follow me down to the bottom.”
The trail leveled off and they walked for awhile, pushing themselves along with their poles. There were no more ski tracks now; the trail was covered with a blanket of new snow. The woods were silent. All Dana could hear was her breathing and the swishing sound their snow pants made as they slid through the deep white powder. She remembered the sting in the pit of her stomach the night before, when Tom announced his news over dinner.
“So, now I’m supposed to look at you and eat at the same time?” she’d demanded. Dana got up and left the restaurant, ducking into a side street so she could walk home by herself. Tom hadn’t even called to see if she was all right. Now her head pounded with shame, as she thought about the juvenile behavior and insults she’d let slide in the course of their relationship. She’d have to make sure and put one of those posters up at the health food store. She looked around for the giant cedar tree that marked the end of the trail. Once there, Dana usually took her classes down a gentle slope that emptied out at the base lodge. She saw some large fir trees, their branches drooping under the weight of heavy snow, but no cedar. Nothing looked familiar. Disoriented and unsure of where she was, she became unnerved. A wave of dizziness passed through her but she kept moving. Going downhill, at least they were headed in the right direction, although she was afraid they might leave the trail by accident and wind up somewhere far below the lodge, lost in the woods. Snow was sticking to her goggles and her hands were cold. She glanced at Leonard and Jerry. They both trudged on, their hats and parkas covered with snow.
“Everybody okay?”
“Yeah, it’s kind of nice out here,” Leonard answered, his voice muffled in the snow. A raven cawed from the woods, and Jerry walked a little faster, catching up with Dana.
“Are we going to get to do anymore skiing?” he asked.
“We’re almost to a steeper part. Fresh powder on your first day. How lucky can you get?” Dana quipped, hoping they didn’t notice the tremor in her voice. Jerry pulled ahead of her, anxious to get to another hill.
There was a flash of light and then a tremendous crack, as if a shotgun had gone off, sending an echo through the woods. They turned toward the direction of the shot, just in time to see the top half of a giant Douglas fir break off and tumble over, crashing through the other trees on its way to the ground. It hit the forest floor with a deep thud. A wave of thunder rolled over their heads.
“Some power,” Leonard remarked.
The three of them stood staring at the fallen fir top. As the snow settled around it, a group of shimmering tiny white lights emerged, and swirled together in a spiral. They flickered across the path and into the woods. Leonard turned to Dana. “Is that a magical Mt. Shasta event, too?”
“I… think we just got really lucky,” Dana breathed, still spellbound. The dizziness and fear had left her, replaced by a deep sense of peace in the woods. The snow began to taper off, and she could see the cedar tree marker about 50 feet away.
Two skiers emerged from the trail behind them, Leif and Ashton from Ski Patrol.
“Janice sent us after you,” Leif said. “They decided to close the park early because of the storm. Are you guys all right?”
“We’re fine. The snow got a little deep on Easy Street and we had to walk.”
“Then that treetop broke off and some snow fairies flew out of it,” Jerry added, pointing into the woods.
They could see the base lodge in the distance, its lights twinkling through the trees.
“Uh, huh,” Leif said.
Dana, Leonard and Jerry looked at each other and nodded, silently appreciating their experience.
“Well, that’s it for the lesson,” Dana rallied. “You did very well. Go ahead and ski the rest of the way yourselves if you like.”
“All right!” Jerry exclaimed, zipping down the hill.
“We liked your class, with all the special effects,” Leonard told Dana. “Next time we’ll be sure to ask for you.”
“Are you okay to drive home in this snow?” she asked.
“Oh yeah, our pickup truck makes roads in this kind of stuff.”
As she watched Leonard ski down to Jerry, Dana dropped into a profound place of connection, sensing the earth supporting her from a place far beneath her feet. She breathed deeply. That’s what I love about teaching the beginners: they’re simple, open, easy to reach. Like footprints in new snow.
She decided to scrap her poster campaign, figuring that for every Tom, there must also be a Leonard.
© LJ Zinkand • 2005, 2013
