Winter delivers its promises.

Of our whole family, I am the only really devoted cross-country skier.

This year's winter really held on to its deadlines — it started at Christmas (a few days after winter solstice), when it snowed heavily, then continued supplying regular batches of fresh snow, and after the first spring day, it began to be warm and ... springy. Unlike the previous year, we had much better skiing conditions, both on downhill slopes and cross-country. I was the one appreciating it most, for in many other aspects this had been a very tough period for me, and I really needed opportunities to get out somewhere, breath in and out, and clear my head.

in January, our granny ended up in a hospital with a very serious surgery — after finding out that she would undergo many weeks of hospital stay, followed by about a month-long physical therapy sessions at a dedicated facility, granny and I have agreed that I would not travel to Czechia. Visits in hospitals were forbidden, covid situation variable — and in the meantime I would not be very useful (see visits, forbidden). In the end it was probably the better choice, as during the few dramatic weeks I could busy myself working, being with family and my goaties, and alternatively skiing in nature, instead of nervously biting my fingernails across the ocean. The only disadvantage of an eight-hour time zone difference ensued in situations like "call after nine a.m., when ward rounds are over" — which for me represented phone calls between one and four in the morning — fortunately our local family branch was also engaged, so we split our shifts about who will call when, and subsequently distributed results to the rest of us. After two months, granny had overcome the worsts and was enjoing here therapy stay, and we kept on wishing her luck and no bad turns.

Tom at his University interview.

We even used our snowblower.

During the most dramatic phase with granny's hospital stay, Tom passed scholarship interviews at the University. That was relatively stressful, although the very context — Tom applying to a school, which he chose and where he has a chance of scholarship — was altogether positive. After our horrid experiences with Californian middle school (grades 5-8), which forced our children into switching to remote education, we had expected at most that Tom would finish some classes at a local college and then find a job — and additional doctrine efforts of comrade teachers would exceed limits of tolerance of his and ours both.

Yet an educational adviser told us during a meeting in September that it would be a waste not to try applying to our University (capitalized here because it's our only such school in Wyoming). Besides state-provided merit-based (GPA+ACT) scholarship (which would cover half of the tuition), the university itself has a contest for a full-ride scholarship, which covers tuition, housing, and food. And since Tom has not been sure which major to take, the technical college offers first year classes in engineering undeclared — for, during the first two semesters all technical directions share the generic classes (e.g., mathematics) — and one can sign up for specific major later with better perspective.

Tom on Crazy Horse ski slope.

This year we even encountered LINES to the lift!

And so, not to miss out on something we had no idea about, we ventured, Tom and Lisa and I, to a tour of the University. It's about one hour drive over the hill — which is another factor speaking for the University — it's far enough to encourage teenagers to try living outside parental supervision range — and still close enough that resolving problems is practical, and visiting home for a weekend easy.
A pleasant surprise we a personal guide we were assigned at the University, with an all-day program matching the needs of our family — it was not a mass affair. A student took us around the campus, including dormitories and cafeteria — our University has a specialty — one can traverse it inside a system of underground tunnels — which means that during winter and minus twenty degrees and a northern wind blowing, students can circulate in a relative comfort. We had an interview at a (studijním oddělením), which confirmed that Tom has qualified to meet requirements to apply for the full-ride scholarship. In addition, we visited the agricultural college (an interests of Lisa's) — and the only problem occurred when we discovered that the engineering college representative was ill. Instead of organizing a substitute, we agreed to come back with Tom at some better time. Honestly, my head by that point resembled a stratospheric balloon, and I did not mind at all being finished before the planned three in the afternoon. We came back to the engineering school a few weeks later, after we'd digested all the generic information, and the visit was shorter, adding a manageable volume of new data.

We were surprised how positively our children reacted to the University. One explanation is, compared to having lived in the over-crowded California, where one must consistently assert self and fight for every basic service like medical care, here everybody is open and ready to help — things have been adjusted to suit our needs and all were expressing interest to acquire new students — especial "ours", Wyomese. For me, the decision moment came with what current students said — e.g., the boy who took us around, will major in history — which all by itself is a nice and interesting science (being a former history teacher, I can really relate) — but it's somewhat impractical as a job qualification. When I brought it up, the boy said that exactly for this reason he also studies museum management — which puts everything in a completely different light. A girls from the agriculture school, studying communications, explained that with such major she can work in state or federal institutions, like national parks — or add to it a teacher's credential. It simply seems to me that this university offers a chance that the kids won't end up with three PhDs, serving coffee at Starbucks.

There is snow enough to groom even cross-country tracks.

I prefer a classic track.

The result was that we started to put together Tom's application, all paperwork, grading reports, state test (ACT) results, CV etc, because just to be included in the applicants for the Trustees Fund, we had to have it all ready by end of November. This we had managed, and in December Tom engaged in the next round of the process — he was to write responses to some questions about himself. Then we waited some more. In January, he proceeded to the next round, on the day our granny went to the hospital; passed a virtual interview. Two weeks later he went to an in-person interview — for which we had to buy him a suit. In Europe we remember, he would have one already from his formal dance lessons, but there's no such thing here and Tom had never owned a formal suit before. We did all this while zig-zagging from one covid episode to another, as it swept through our family. It manifested by a small increase in body temperature and lack of appetite in our kids (with Tom that meant he ate like three miners who had been trapped in a hole for a week, not like ten such miners as usual), and we did not consider it note-worthy; only I went to get tested, when a nasty cough bothered me for relatively long time.

Roughly fifty students got invited to the in-person interview, but with all their families it represented quite a crowd — but the University had it all well organized; four groups rotated among various presentations and information workshop — and the individual interviews. At the end they disclosed that a hundred positions would be filled — and only a hundred and fifteen applicants had qualified to the last round — thus greatly improving our expectations for Tom's chances of the scholarship. In previous years, there were two- or three-times as many applicants, and locals had claimed that receiving such scholarship was not very realistic. My theory why the decline in numbers: covid restrictions prevented a lot of people to attend school and achieve required results — not to speak of those relatively hard state tests, and they did not make it through the initial sieve. Tom had eventually been awarded the scholarship, which has kept us in a state of (nice) surprise. Still the whole process occupied us from October to mid-February, always having some deadline to fill-out / submit / attend something, and then waiting for several weeks whether Tom would advance to the next round. A continuous, lingering stress.

Goaties are not very happy about snow (Mick).

They prefer lying about their shed (Licky and Enya).

But going back to the winter proper — it worked out really well this year, for about every week, new snow would fall, but never too much to cause a calamity. We had purchased a snowblower in the fall — to stop being forced to shovel it all manually — and we took the machine out only two times throughout the whole winter — and that only more for the principle than because the heaps in front of our garages were a real obstacle. The only bad news was our northern wind — both house and goat shed are built for the usual western wind; northerner blows from a side, sticks snow to the bedroom windows, and blows snow into the goaties' beds. When the wind comes from west, animals have a wind-shadow in front of their shed, and can soak up the sun — there's practically nowhere to hide from the frosty northern wind.

A regular supply of snow had complicated a bit our situation with Lisa's vaulting — I feel that during January and February, Lisa got on her horse perhaps once — the club has no covered arena, and in snow or on a frozen surface, both horses and riders could injure themselves. Yet ski-wise, the winter has really worked out. Throughout the season, one could ski downhill in wonderfully puffy moguls, and we even encountered a real line to the lift at our Snowy Range once. Which was actually quite fine, as one gets to rest and "does not have to" keep going like crazy. I had mixed myself into another crowded day once more, when I missed a detail that all surrounding states (unlike ours) had their spring break — and thus people came not only from neighboring Colorado and Nebraska, but even from Iowa. Concentration of people still did not reach the crowd densities we were routinely exposed to in California, but I really did not expect it on a weekday. There was also no space left for my car at the parking lot in front of the main building; they waved me away to some overflow parking ABOVE dormitories. I did not mind that, for I could actually ski down from my car to the lifts, but then it turned out to be a hard nut to crack, when I wanted to go home. Especially for an elderly, chubby, arthritic auntie, who had sprained her knee during her last mogul run. I hobbled up to informations, and inquired whether they run a shuttle that could get me to my car, claiming that I can't make it up the hill that I slided easily down from in the morning, with a game knee, in my heavy ski pants and hauling skis on my shoulder. Chaps gazed at me as if I were a space alien (arthritis is nasty — I can ski down black slopes without a problem — but then I can get up the stairs to a cafeteria and my coffee), said there was no shuttle, but then they told me to wait, they would figure something. They brought forth Jason, such a boy, who looked even younger than our Tom; Jason would run up and bring me my car. When Jason reassured me that he knew how to drive stick-shift, he got my keys — and I got my car brought to me like a lady leaving a theater after a gala, right at the curb. Which affirmed again how well we have moved — instead of simply sending me away, resort people thought up a quick and simple solution of one bothersome auntie — despite having a thousand other worries (simultaneously with me they dealt with a collision of two other customers, plus a heap of other details like rental locker key returns, equipment and classes' reservations and so on).

It's sunny on the lee side of the goat shed.

Excursion on foot to Box Canyon.

I got to do cross-country much more frequently than downhill. It half as much closer, so one can got for just a few hours, not spending a whole day with it, and it's also our nearest mountain range — and therefore having similar weather to our home. Downhill slopes are over the hill and through Laramie Valley, and sometimes it's a challenge to get there — there may be bad weather either there, or on our side (or they close the interstate and other roads). Cross-country skis are more relaxing, because you go alone and not with lots of other people. Only this year made me realize how bad the previous winter had been, with lots of snow, but always within one or two days, and then nothing again for a while — so ski tracks were groomed, frozen over, and partially melted away. This year, as soon as some parts melted, a half of three quarters of another foot of fresh snow fell, and on we went — and as soon as the new layer got ridden off, voila! a new snow shower arrived. This meant that I dared going farther trails, higher hills, even ungroomed trails for snow-bikes. I like those especially, for I can crawl on them at my own pace, unlike on groomed thoroughfares, where beefed-up skating seniors overtake me, so I feel quite impossible. And it's really awfully pretty out there.

But my state of mind, being often far away, led also to me sometimes arriving to the parking lot without skiing shoes (and was forced to just hike), but also that on one of my returning trips, I spun out my car on the interstate. This is our local specialty — you drive on a clean dry pavement, emerge from behind a hill, and a hundred yard long snow drift lies across the whole freeway, partially driven over by big trucks — which forms there because just in this spot, a natural wind tunnel forms, where the air blows perhaps at sixty miles per hour. So when your car plunges into the slosh and gets blown sideways, and you don't expect it, you're screwed spun out.
My spin out must have been impressive, for multiple cars had stopped, including a semi-truck — I had no choice but to breathe deeply, get out of my car and assure them I was alright. A chap who was one of the first to stop offered me a lift, which I accepted. Before we crossed those forty miles to town, I managed to call Sid, arrange with Tom to pick me up at a parking lot, organize our family's mechanic to go tow my Subaru (with dented door and stripped tire). The gentleman who drove me eventually offered to drop me off at the mechanic's place, so that I did not have to get another ride from a parking lot somewhere — which was great. By six in the evening I had my car back, with a reset and inflated tire. A fix for the door took longer, and was much more expensive — but, alas, was necessary, for the door did not seal and, having lost and external decorative plastic panel, sported holes. On the other hand — the fact that ONLY the door got busted and I, having spun out 270 degrees, uprooted a small roadside post, and ploughed through the shoulder ditch, have got out and walked away, was actually a great outcome.

This year's temperature record was slightly below zero (°F).

No wind in the woods and it's beautiful then while freezing.

And not to be outdone, Sid repeated my performance withing a few weeks — at a slower speed (while entering the interstate), but with a Ford pickup truck. His result was similar — stripped tire. He was just leaving the tire shop, when we took our Ford with a leak — they must think us crazy at the shop — Sid came in in a Subaru with a flat right left. I was at that time headed to my yoga session in the Ford, but did not make it, as a tire started deflating on it. We met at the shop — and I continued on in the fixed Subaru, leaving Sid to wait for the Ford, on which he subsequently stripped the tire while leaving. They could make a reality show out of it. Since then we can't even berate our children to drive safely — now that it's us, parents, who managed to crash on ice.