over the mountains and through the hail

Our six-hour drive to Ashland, Oregon ended after the sun set Friday night. Our heavy eyes and creaky joints pleaded with us for mercy, but our determination to make this weekend seem as long as it possibly could pushed us out of the doors of our hotel and into downtown Ashland. A British-themed bar that we found on the upper floor of an old building looked inviting, so we walked up and ordered drinks while we watched theatre-goers walk the streets. I talked Jon out of ordering "Bangers and Mash" from the extensive menu, and we headed back to our hotel. Just before I gave in to my exhaustion, I noticed that I didn't feel excited to be on this mini-vacation. An undercurrent of sadness was following me everywhere, as it would for most of our stay.

The next morning we visited Lithia Park, and paused from hiking to taste the water from the stream that runs through the park. Sadly, the weather then made a drastic turn for the worse, and we spend much of the afternoon getting soaked as we attempted to get a feel for downtown Ashland. After having the ridiculous amount of rainfall we've had in the past few months at home, we probably should have thought through our destination choice a bit more thoroughly. To get out of the rain and drown our sorrows, we visited a local winery owned by a former Presbyterian minister, and we tasted what the local grapes had to offer. Had the rain stopped, we would have loved to sit out on the deck that faces the hills.








With the sweet residue of cabernet lingering in our mouths, we drove a few miles up in elevation where we happened upon something all too familiar, though absent from our lives in recent years. We pulled the car over and jumped around in the patches of fresh snow.








We were able to get tickets for Saturday night's performance of "A Winter's Tale" at one of the theatres in town. It was so impressively executed in every way, and it was also just fun to do something we don't normally get the chance to do. Still, my heart was slouching, unable to really let go and enjoy the new things surrounding me. On our way home the next morning, we stopped in Shasta for lunch. While we sat in the mostly empty but charming cafe with our hot soup warming our bodies, we watched out the window as snow started to fall outside. That persistent sadness gave way for a moment, and I was suddenly and deeply content.