OK, I just went and looked it up. It's a "silver anniversary". One site even called it a "silver jubilee"! How's that for something? A jubilee??? We may have missed a golden silver opportunity to do something really grand! (I just told Mike this and he informed me that the wife always plans the "silver jubilee". Haha. So I guess the blame for any lack of celebrating lands squarely at my feet.)
As it was, we loaded up the van and the Bronco with enough snow gear, sugar cereal, and games to clothe, feed, and entertain an army (11 being practically an army); stopped in rain and mud to stock the goats, chickens, and steers up on hay and grain; and then drove to Bear Lake (me in the Bronco, Mike and the kids in front of me in the van).
It was the second most treacherous drive through that canyon that I've experienced. (Yes, there was one worse actually!) The forecast rain turned to a blizzard of wind and snow. (Though not until we were too far in for turning back to even be a possibility.) It was dark. And during many points I truly could see neither Mike's lights in front of me nor anything about which direction the winding canyon road was turning. It was pretty terrifying honestly, and I was clutching my wheel tensely and praying out loud nearly the entire way--sometimes almost in tears and basically crying out for help for me and for Mike and the kids in front of me--wherever they were. Every time I would be most certain there was no way to know where to go ... the reflection of one more road marker would become visible and give me another foot of guidance, or a car's lights would appear out of the snow coming towards me and I'd see the curve of the road again for a minute. Some perfect metaphor for a talk in there, I am sure. And should I share this? At one point I felt quite distinctly that a distant and deceased Norwegian cousin of mine (whose family Shannon and I have been finding and doing temple work for) and who I've felt an especially strong connection with was sitting next to me letting me know that help was here. Not only would I be safe, but Mike and the kids were already being protected as well. It was such a strong and certain comfort I could hardly believe it. (Though the roads got so much worse after that reassurance that I doubted the certainty I'd felt many times over the remaining drive! A metaphor there as well. "Did I not speak peace to your mind concerning the matter?" Yes. But I forget. And need it repeated quite often. Ha.)
But, as you've likely guessed by the fact that I am here typing this, we arrived safe and sound at the cabin! And all that wildness turned instantly to peace and still--quiet, snowy, white night and us, in excitement and relief, forging a path through it all into a cozy cabin. (Or one that would get cozy once we got the heat going anyway.)
There was sledding.
When the kids were all getting geared up, I asked Mike, "How much do you need me to come sledding with you guys? ..."
He responded, "3."
"Out of 10?" I asked, hopefully.
He nodded.
Hah. Such a good husband.
"Yes!" I pumped my fist inward, hugged him, and sent them all off while I relaxed on the couch and got caught up on a mess of disorganized photos.
But every now and then a text would come through with a few delightful pictures! (Well, perhaps we shouldn't call Hansie's bloody lip "delightful”. But the rest!)
And there was snowshoeing. (Mike had to head back to Logan on that day, but I sent Abe, Dais, Pen and Jesse snowshoeing while the rest of the kids went on a "snow adventure walk" with me. ["Snow adventure walk" can also be translated as "Every kid is suited up and ready to do more sledding, but we accidentally left all the sleds in the back of the van that the snowshoers took and need to make everyone still think we are having fun.")
Daisy took all the snowshoeing photos--which, sadly, means there is no her in them.
There was also New Year's Eve. We played games and went into Garden City for the tree-burning bonfire and fireworks. A fun atmosphere.
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