Dear Friend,
Here we are in this new week, the last few days of 2024… Happy New Year to YOU as we welcome 2025 to our history book!
It’s just a thought, but your account of what happened yesterday, December 28th 2024, would be very different from mine. There are an awful lot of people on the planet, each with their own story to tell about yesterday. Yet, when we were in school, there was just the one history book.
It is a rainy day here in Northern California. Though it is perfectly dry and warm inside our trailer, I plan to go for a walk. I’ve mentioned before in previous letters how having “the good sense to stay in out of the rain,” is hopefully not a true measure of intelligence. Either way, I value the benefits of walking more than I would ever yearn to be labeled a ‘genius.’
Speaking of such things, I will tell you about a stroll that Frank took back in 2021.
Alone, he drove up to the high California Sierras and parked his truck along an isolated road. Then, he donned his snowshoes and grabbed his tripod and his very heavy camera-laden back-pack and headed out into deep snow. Like the following photos, that day, his goal was to photograph beautiful winter scenes along his favorite river.
That day, he followed the contour of snow-covered bushes, making his way to the edge of the water. Focusing on his frosty subjects, camera on tripod, he captured the beauty of being there; ice on water; he wanted to share the experience through his work.
Suddenly, he was sliding down a steep bank, weighted by a heavy back-pack, camera still on the tripod, his snowshoes immediately sank into the rushing water! With no time to react, he found himself standing up to his knees in the rushing stream. The more he tried to move, the deeper he drifted sideways, soon, the water was above his waist; on the rocky river bed down below the icy current, his snowshoes were impossible to steer. He leaned forward into the current, and tried to maintain his balance. The water was frigid, much too cold. He shoved the feet of his tripod down into the riverbed and pushed against it as he took a step toward the bank, ten feet away, it seemed like miles. He put all of his weight on the tripod and all of his momentum into the next step. Very slowly, straining his carbon fiber tripod, he was able to inch his way through the icy water to the shallows. As he faced the wall of deep snow, ice and loose rocks, he didn’t hesitate to plow forward, trying everything he could to leave the water and scramble up the steep bank through the snow. His pants were freezing onto his legs, his feet were encumbered by the snowshoes, now, heavy ice blocks frozen around his boots. The sun was going down, the wind was gusting and the temperature was 9•Fahrenheit and dropping. Though he had left the water, he was very wet and still had a long way to trudge through deep snow. His heart was racing and he was shivering uncontrollably. Could he make it back to the truck?
He called me a few hours later. After he had checked into a hotel, taken a hot shower, changed into dry clothes and had his wet clothes hanging in front of the heater.
“Hi Sweetie,” he said, “I didn’t want you to worry. I’m fine, now, but I just did something really silly, I broke my tripod.”
Needless to say, we’re grateful for every day, especially every day that we can be together. It is truly a gift!
We hope that you are doing exactly what you have always dreamed of doing on the 29th of December, 2024!
Through these 105 blog/letters over the past two years, we have enjoyed sharing our journey and being part of yours; and if it works for you, starting next week, we’ll look forward to checking in via Tracks by the Post for another 52 weeks!
When you have a chance, please Write to Us and let us know how you are doing (however far back in history you wish to delve) … we enjoy hearing from you!
With naturally procured, heartfelt appreciation, please accept our gratitude; thank you for being there; thank you for your caring thoughts and prayers as we continue to (albeit slowly) make our way home.
Gently Be,
Leslie and Frank