Come What May, And Love It

The fifteen of us met up at the new Institute of Religion building. Sarah, Allie and I climbed into the backseat of Pokey’s truck, while Trevor and Pokey settled in the front. The others climbed in other vehicles, and we were off.

School was out for the day, and the plan was to have as much fun as possible. Winter had dumped plenty of snow on us and most of it had stuck. This was uncommon for my hometown of Brigham City, but this was my first winter in Price, and I wasn’t sure what to expect as we headed South through Huntington Canyon.

The road was winding and I started feeling ill as we went up the mountain. It was probably a good thing I had only eaten a granola bar for breakfast. Just when I thought I would that breakfast bar all over Pokey’s nice truck interior, we stopped.

I immediately opened the door to get some fresh air inside the vehicle. Snow spiraled through the air and landed in the laps of everybody inside. Joe was out walking in the downy drifts, and he came up to the driver’s side window to talk to Pokey.

“Is this where we’re supposed to meet? Or is it up further?”

Pokey shrugged, “Do you want to just wait for Bishop?”

Bishop and Sister Fredrickson had taken a detour on the way up and now were a few minutes behind us. Pokey rolled up the window, I closed my door, and Red Hot Chili Peppers whined through the car speakers.

Bishop’s car appeared and we followed him up the hill, where visibility became all but non-existant. After little more discussion it was unanimously decided that we should go back down the hill and rendezvous where we had been waiting.

Joe and Bishop unloaded tubes and sleds, snowboards and snowmobiles. Boy, oh, boy, today was going to be fun, one way or another. I stepped out into the snow, eagerly, and instantly sunk down to my thigh. The snow was unlike anything I had ever seen in my backyard as a kid. It was deep and powdery. Somehow it was light and heavy at the same time: heavy enough to make and throw snowballs, but light enough that it would get caught by the wind and slap everyone in the face with little effort.

I pulled my right leg from the pile only to sink even deeper with my left. That was when I wished I had been properly attired. Most wore heavy coats, snowpants and snow boots. I wore running shoes, the kind with mesh to help your feet breather, jeans with pajama bottoms underneath, and a $30 coat from the local Walmart. Before we left that morning, I wrapped my socked feet in plastic shopping bags, hoping that the plastic would keep the water off my feet. Boy, was I sorely mistaken.

Eager young single adults grabbed at the tubes and snowboards and headed to the top of the steep sledding hill, which overlooked a frozen lake. Kami sat down and begged for a push. She slid about five feet before she got stuck in the snow. One more big push from a member of the Elder’s Quorum and she was off! Kami screamed as she flew down the hill. I watched her disappear from sight, only to reappear at the bank of the frozen lake very much the size of an insect. Whoa, that was some hill.

I watched several others brave the hill before I finally got up the courage to go for it myself. I hopped on a tube, and handed my camera off to Trevor, who took a few pictures of me and Kelsey, who I was trying to convince to accompany me down the slope. Without warning, however, someone gave my tube a hard push. It could’ve been Trevor, but it was probably Pokey, all I know is that everyone at the top laughed as I screamed through the entire descent.

I whoosed down the hillside and stopped about half way down when BUMP! Kelsey’s tube hit mine and sent me on my way again, only this time I was going backwards.

Powdered snow slapped me in the face and stuck itself inside every crease and crevice. By the time I reached the bottom, I was covered in the stuff.

I stood up and dusted myself off and laughed along with the other people at the bottom, then look back where I had come from.

It was only from this angle that I could see how long and steep the slope was. There was no way anyone could hike that, luckily no one was expected to climb it. That is where the snowmobiles came in.

Joe was showing off on one, and Dakota was having fun on the other. I was a little nervous, as I had never been on one of these ferocious looking vehicles before.

After watching a few of my fellows make it up the hill safely, I decided it was my turn. I hopped on with Joe, because I knew him slightly better than I knew Dakota. I had my tube around my right arm, and my left was around Joe.

They say that hindsight it 20/20, and looking back, I should have switched my hands. I am right hand dominant, so it most likely would have been easier to hold on.

Unfortunately, by the time I remembered that I was not left-handed, Joe had already started the snowmobile and we were headed back up.

I held on tightly, but then something unexpected occurred. Joe stood up. There was probably some physics behind this: speed, balance, air resistance? I didn’t know, all I knew was that I was short and I couldn’t reach his waste when he was standing.

I improvised and grabbed hold of his coat pocket, but I could tell immediately that he wasn’t too happy about that. I let go for only a moment, but inertia, a physics term I actually know, got the better of me.

I slid right off the seat and over the seatback. I yelped, but Joe didn’t seem to notice at first. Technically speaking, I was still on the snowmobile, but it almost certainly wasn’t safe to ride where I was sitting.

Finally, Joe slowed down and, finally acknowledging my screech, called back to me, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m just not on the seat anymore,” I yelled back to him over the roaring of the machine.

Joe stopped and allowed me to get readjusted. Then he looked at the tube with distress. He put it around his waist and sat down. Even I could see that this was not a brilliant idea. I voiced my concern that he wouldn’t be able to steer with that thing around him. Joe agreed and put the tube around me, as if he was playing some kind of solemn ring toss.

I reached my short arms around the fat tube and tried to grab onto Joe’s middle. We started off again, and once again Joe stood, this time telling me to “lean against the hill.” I had no idea what this meant and the stretch was just too much for my stubby arms and I tumbled off the snowmobile. Luckily, the stupid tube sunk into the snow and I didn’t roll far.

Joe was obviously getting a little frustrated at the incompetent girl he’d been forced to chauffer. After I freed myself from the depths of the tube and deep snow, I heaved myself over onto the backseat. I smiled at Joe apologetically, and laughed a little.

He drove me back to the bottom of the hill and ordered me to drop the tube: “It’s throwing us off.”

Once again he started up the motor, but this time we hadn’t driven five feet when he ordered I get off. A little confused and slightly hurt, I obeyed.

“There’s something wrong with it,” he said without elaboration, “I’m going to take it to Bishop.”

I got off and met the odd looks of the others waiting for rides back up the hillside. They were confused as to why I had been gone so long, and yet, I’d shown up back at the bottom.

An Apostle of God said in his last testimony to the world before he died, “Next time you are tempted to groan, try laughing instead.” I decided to take on this attitude and explained with a smile, “Oh, Joe just kicked me off. Couldn’t stand to ride with me. I must smell bad or something.”

We laughed for awhile about it and then Dakota came and picked someone else up.

“Want to go next?” Someone asked me.

I shook my head. I needed a little breather from snowmobiles. And I still didn’t know if I wanted to ride with Dakota. It wasn’t him, it was me. I didn’t want to put my arms around someone I hardly knew. Other girls would jump at the chance to cuddle with perfect strangers, but I had a personal bubble and I was determined to keep it.

I decided I would wait for Joe to come back, or maybe he would hand it off to Bishop. Either way, I had determined to wait a while longer at the base of the hill.

I sat my wet and cold self down on my abandoned tube and chatted with the others. Eventually it got to the point where I was the only one left down at the hill. Dakota would come, I would decline.

More kids on tubes came down, and went back up, leaving me alone until another set came down again. The snowmobile Joe had been driving was passed off the inexperienced Alden. I was a little offended that neither Joe nor Bishop saw fit to some rescue me, but I tried to dust the feeling under the rug.

Then came Pokey. Bless his heart; it’s not his fault I started to cry.

Most mothers will know that when their child falls, the best thing to do is laugh at them and tell them to get back up. That way he’ll just start laughing too. But if she runs to her fallen child in hysteria wondering if the kid is okay, he will start crying.

Pokey was a hysterical mother, minus the mother part . . . oh, and the hysteria. I suppose he was just concerned that I hadn’t been back up for quite a while. He came and sat by me and asked me if I was okay. The tear gates opened as I tried to convince him I was fine. And of course once you start crying two things happen: 1)Everybody notices, 2)Nobody believes you are “fine.”
Pretty soon I was crowded by people who wanted to comfort me, when I really just wanted to be left alone. When they all left, I regained my composure. The next group came down, and I laughed as their train of tubes exploded. Then they left and I started crying again.

I composed myself. Then Joe apologized for scaring me and I started up again. I don’t this “scare” was the right word. I think “making me feel like an idiot” is a little more accurate.
This off and on crying went on for another 30 minutes. I just wanted to shout, “Stop the emotional rollercoaster! I want to get off!” And eventually, Bishop felt the need to give me a heart to heart. He coaxed me onto the back of his snowmobiles and once again I was being whitewashed in motion.

I silently prayed as I held on to Bishop tightly. And wouldn’t you know it . . . I didn’t fall off. This is due to the fact the snowmobile buried itself in the deep snow at least a foot. Bishop and I got off to the side and he ordered me to stay. I watched as my Bishop tried to single-handedly free the stupid machine. Part of me felt bad and wanted to help; the other part of me just really didn’t care if I had to sit on my butt in this snow for the rest of my life.
Dakota came driving past, Alden, having given up the snowmobile he’d been driving to the Bishop, was on the back. He saw our situation and purposely rolled off the vehicle. Dakota turned around and started helping as well. In the end, the three of them got the snowmobile back on top of the snow. Alden and Dakota climbed on, for some reason we traded. Looking back, I think it was so if that snowmobile got stuck again the invalid wouldn’t be on it.

Bishop and I trudged in the thigh deep snow to the vehicle that was stopped a mere five feet away. Ugh, it was the hardest five feet I’ve had to walk in my life! And after about two feet, something awful happened.

“Bishop, my shoe fell off.”

The two of us dug into the snow searching for my white running shoe. The plastic bags were degrading from the water at this point, and I didn’t have a dry patch on me. Bishop was the one who finally retrieved the rebellious shoe. I slipped it over my foot and attempted to tie the laces with my frozen fingers. (I had taken off my wet gloves and hour prior.) Bishop pulled his gloves off and ordered me to put them on, which was more difficult than it should have been, but I couldn’t even feel my fingers anymore.

We reached the back-up and I tried for another few minutes to get on it. Bishop was trying to be patient and as we set off one last time, he called back to me, “The easiest way to get you back up to the top is by going straight up where you came down on the tube.”

I just nodded, praying for angels to hold me on this terrible contraption for the duration of the ride. I prayed that we wouldn’t get stuck again. I prayed that I wouldn’t start crying again when we reached the top, which we eventually did.

Everyone cheered for me, which was the last thing I wanted to hear. I fake smiled at them as they told me I should grab some chili.

“I hate chili,” I said, maybe a little to angrily.
“Well have some hot cocoa then.”

I gave the glove back to the Bishop, grabbed some hot cocoa, and went to stand by the space heater. The knees in Trevor’s jeans were a mixture of golden brown and charcoal black, and you could see his skin beneath the holes. He warned me not to stand too close to the heater, and got a genuine smile out of me.

I laughed a little, but I was ready to go home. Pokey was taking a truckload back early, but the seats had already been called for. I felt like crying, but then Pokey asked me if I wanted to go home. Of course, I did. I said yes and climbed in. I suspect Trevor gave up his seat for me. How nice.

I got back to my dorm and changed into dry clothes. I was determined to laugh this off, but for some reason no matter how many times I retell this tale of woe, I start crying and the listeners start laughing.

I’m going to continue to tell this story until I myself can laugh about it. When I am tempted to groan, I want to be able to laugh. As Joseph B. Wirthin said, “Come what may, and love it.” I may not be able to control my ineptitude at balancing myself on a snowmobile, but I can control the attitude I have through the trials I am given. I don’t know if God sent down angels to help me or not, but one way or another He helped me up that hill in the end.