An Airstream Reflection
Once upon a time there was a young couple. They lived in a tiny Airstream by the airport where they both worked and kept a small plane. They liked mountains, snow, and wild places and while flying they spotted a little valley high, high in the mountains where the snow came early, stayed late, and was so white in between.
The young couple scrimped and saved and managed to buy that valley. They couldn’t afford to fly anymore, so they sold their plane and bought a little ski lift and sold lift tickets to all who would come play in the snow. In the beginning things were tough and the couple moved the Airstream behind some Aspens in snow valley to save money on rent. But the couple had big dreams and, as the snow business grew, they added more lifts, parking lots, and a huge, beautiful lodge where all who wanted to stay the night could get a room, a meal, and a hot toddy.
The lodge had a great, great room with a huge fireplace. At evening time, as shadows fell upon the snow valley, skiers and snowboarders would gather round the fire to tell tall tales. Over time a tradition was born, where the regulars hung stockings for Christmas and the couple threw a big “Thank You” feast for all the snow lovers who bought seasons tickets. And by the time we came along, the couple lived in the newest wing of the lodge. The Airstream, no longer their residence, sat in the snow-cat shed winters, and behind the aspens come summers.
But then the Airstream disappeared. The circumstances were unclear, mysterious, with all explanation subject to doubt and contradiction. Everyone around snow valley heard a story one way or another. True, the couple, didn’t need the Airstream any more—they had a lodge room with bright lights, hot water, and wonderful central heat. Still, with the Airstream’s loss the snow just didn’t seem quite as white.
One sign was the stockings about the great fireplace. Maybe there were too many stockings or people didn’t care anymore so down they came. Another was the big feast, which started with everyone having a place at the table with a name tag and everything. But soon there were too many people to all sit at once. So the late comers had to wait in a line and show their season pass to get a seat. And then the feast became a voucher you could exchange for food in the snack bar on “pass holder weekend”, now moved from holiday time to February. And finally there was nothing at all, unless you had memories of years past.
My wife somehow learned how things had really happened. One very late evening she came back from being about the lodge, and, by chance, she had run into the couple and learned the truth about the Airstream. “What was it about that Airstream?” my wife had asked.
The Airstream was a time machine, they said, connecting where they had been to the present. The snow valley had been good to them and they could do what they wanted. Yes, the old trailer needed a shell off restoration. It had housed a lot of mice over the years. But it was theirs, part of their story.
The couple missed the celebratory feast with everyone having their own place at the table. They hadn’t intended snow valley to grow so big. While they had made the wonders of snow valley accessible to all, they still thought about their own roads not travelled, roads without winter snow. Their Airstream was their way to that adventure.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“May your roads be snow free.” --Burnside Bob
Linear Mode
