Steph Abbott Says

Sundays in the southwest rarely include a sleigh ride. How did it happen? Without much thinking.

I was barely awake, my husband preoccupied with the paper, but the boys were determined to go sledding.Daddy was determined not to spend money.

I sniffed, coughed, and said, “Don’t worry they’ll get back in the car after ten minutes of cold, wet snow.”

The weather outside wasn’t frightful though it chilled a bit as we passed the 6,000 ft. elevation marker. The skies were clear, blue and the road dusted white to the edges. Scattered snow built up along the desert floor to a nice blanket along the foothills.

After pulling off the state highway, we donned our rarely-used winter coats and took off toward the trailhead. The snow was dry, powdery and glistened in the sun.

We encountered some cowboys set up with a fire pit and two teams of large horses pulling sleighs.

An unexpected picture, I promptly envisioned a pleasant ride through the countryside. My sons’ jaws slacked then recovered with hoots of joy. My husband clutched his wallet.

After a some sighs, wimpers and whines, the big man from the big city fell—persuaded by potential memories of the picturesque high desert.

With the boys (big and small), the ride was riddled with questions about snow, rabbits, horse, trees, and the herding tendencies of cowdogs-that-don’t-like-to-be-called-snowdogs.

All-in-all, it was a great day…for the boys and the hubby. I haven’t fared as well. My throat is worse, and I missed yet another wedding. Ah, still…it was an unexpected delight.

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Doodle by sick Stephanie. Yes, another picture. I know. It’s hard to see. I’m working on a remedy. I’ve just ordered a scanner.