What the bulldozer giveth, the bulldozer taketh away

Exhausted, I gaze through the window at the pink snow glowing on the mountains in the distance. It’s three o’clock, and naptime is finally here. But not for me. Picking up all those pointy little wooden blocks that always find their way under my sock feet, wiping spaghetti-O’s from the floor…and the walls…and everything else within a toddler toss of Luke’s high chair—I have plenty to do despite my dreams of dreaming. But I’ve earned the next five minutes of rest, and I’m glad I have the glowing view to help me enjoy them.

The great thing about Barrow in February is that the ever-increasing daylight treats me to sunrises after I awake and alpenglow in the mid-afternoon. Rose petal snow wisps across the streets toward mountains and rooftops pink in the light of the slowly setting sun. The view out my window transforms my couch into a snow drift bench at the top of a tough alpine climb. I stop to catch my breath and take in the view before clicking on my skis and floating down untracked powder to the other world below.

The mountains have long turned from push-up-pop orange to bubble gum pink, so it’s time to begin my descent. Just as I hit my internal snooze button, hoping to grab one last moment of relaxation before hitting the first steep drop, I notice something terribly wrong.

A giant Eskimo third grader, clad in camouflaged hat, Fox Racing goggles and a much too large, hand-me-down parka from a relative’s whaling crew appears on the summit ridge of the glowing mountain. His red mittens breaking false summits and toppling gendarmes like King Kong throwing police cars and small buildings, or like, well, like the kid he is playing on a roadside snow pile. The illusions of my past life are shattered.

Stunned and confused by reality, I toss my throw cushion skis from the couch, remove my goggles to rub my eyes and ease back into today’s “All Things Considered” on KBRW. There are no mountains in Barrow. The nearest of those grand ripples on the earth’s crust are a few hundred miles to the south. We didn’t even move our downhill skis to Barrow, and Luke can’t stand on his own, much less climb or ski. Strangely, as much a part of our lives playing in the mountains had been, it is now just as absent.

Yes, what my parents always said is as true now as it was unconscionable then. “Do that stuff now while you can. Once you have kids, everything changes.”

“Yeah right, my kid is gonna be right there with me. First in the backpack, then carrying his own,” I thought to myself in those days.

After dragging Luke up the Mt. Roberts trail in Juneau a dozen or so times, I realized that Luke may like the mountains someday, but now it’s just a bumpy ride and a chilly breeze on his drool-laden cheeks. He’d usually sleep the whole way then, and now, if his rides in the backpack around the track at Barrow High School are any indication, he’d rather be crawling than carried. Mountains are unnecessary and unnoticed by a kid who only cares about what within a short reach might fit into his mouth. Dragging him on a long hike now would be much akin to cramming my whole extended family into a Porsche and driving around a speed-bump ridden parking lot outside a racetrack. All the elements are there, but no one is having fun.
The day the red-mittened mountain masher yanked me from my nostalgia, the phrase that came to mind was, “the mountain will always be there.” It’s a common phrase disheartened climbers use when retreating from an unsuccessful summit attempt, but it applies nicely to steepaphiles with new babies living in flat places. In my memory and in my future, if not in my window, the mountains will always be there.

That time will come when we’re ready to hike, climb and ski as a family, and until then, we’ll be patient knowing that the mountains will be there when we’re ready for them. In Barrow our time here is not marked by peaks, places and expectations. Here, it’s blocks, books and bottles, and we’re happy with that. Luke doesn’t compete with powder days and clear skies for our focus, just the occasional snow pile daydream.

Most things in life are ephemeral, like snow piles, and the time, energy and especially the energy to go mountaineering. The uncompromised attention we’re able to give Luke will have eternal benefits. We’re finding that it’s much easier for us to do that when it’s 20 below and everything outside is flat and white.



A day later, the bulldozers returned to take the snow mountains away. Even the Eskimo third graders have to spend some time on the flatland. Like our time in the mountains, the snow piles will be back soon enough, although in a slightly different form. In the meantime, sofa-cushion mountains and peek-a-boo will have to do.

'til then, peek-a-boo