It is New Year's Eve.

Another year of life on the Ridge ends
and begins.

2008 is dawning for me, once more, in the forest.
It is a year I never thought would come.

Outside the window a once bright morning fades into a dull gray afternoon.
A foot of fresh powder blankets the ridgetop, covering hillside and pine bough and the fenceline along the lane.
The house is quiet. Only the faint sound of the wind in the trees sighs through the air.
The old wicker rocker tips to and fro ever so slightly
there by the tall French doors across the room
where Mom sits reading The Meadow.
Julie is snuggled in a quilt, deep in the safe haven of the giant chair by the fireplace
lost in a fantasy world that dances by on the TV screen
questing for adventure in the electric hum of the PS2.
The three dogs surround her, each lost in their own fantasies,
savoring in their sleep the happy tasty treats of Christmas just past
or chasing rabbits in a dream meadow filled with sunlight.
Upstairs in the loft, our child sleeps,
sharing that attic room with the salvaged items of her past life,
gathering her strength
for the final, bitter days of her shattered marriage
and the challenge of a new life that shines on the horizon.

And here I am, again, sitting at the bar near the wood stove
tapping away on the keyboard of the little iMac
in that oh so familiar way.
So familiar.
So comforting.

So unexpected.

It was in the spring of 2006 we decided to leave this place and move back to the city.
The house, our house, and all the land around it, had been sold.
A new house had been purchased, movers hired, boxes packed.
So how is it that we find ourselves still here, now more than a year and a half later?
The only answer is,
a miracle.

Every day in this special place is miraculous in some way,
whether it is the deep silence that envelops us, or the pure water we drink, the clean air we breathe,
the endless forest against a backdrop of ragged mountains beneath a lake blue sky,
the sound of an approaching storm whistling through Wind Canyon nearby,
starlight glinting on the smooth cheek of a waist-deep snow drift,
a red eagle's cry that echoes off lowering clouds
and pierces your heart.

I can not tell you how we came to be here on this dawn of another new year,
or why I find myself still writing about it on a fading afternoon of our tenth winter in this foothills redoubt.
My six years of journaling ended last March.
I knew I was finished with that part of my life.
I know it still.

What lingers are the friendships we made during our online days
though they, too, have faded in number.
But a few remain. Only a handful, perhaps,
but more treasured, now,
like rare jewels.

So, I sat down to write this New Year's journal
mostly to let each of you know how we are doing
and to let you know, also, that we still think of you often
and are thankful that you take the time to drop us a line every now and then.

Most of you will not be surprised to hear we are still in our house in the forest
but, as for me, well, I'm surprised as hell.
Lost in the chatter of my mind is an endless reasoning
of the events and circumstances that stayed our flight to the city.
But, somewhere in the whispering of my spirit I hear the truth.
We simply were not ready to let go.

In 2007 we did let go of some things,
and added some others.
Julie let go of her job and found a new one where she is happy.
Being happy in your job is a good thing.
So are dogs.
We now have three.
Dude is a distinguished old gentleman, at 11.
This fall we adopted a six-year-old fox hound and a mixed-breed puppy.
Now we are three times as happy in dog years.

We plan to stay in the forest for at least another year
but who knows.
Life has been somewhat unpredictable recently.
And comfortable, at the same time.

Two years ago I had it all planned out,
we were going to move to the city,
give up working jobs for a while,
spend the summer in Provence,
maybe even become ex-pats,
who knew?

Turns out I didn't know anything.

Things didn't turn out at all the way I planned
but I'm sure glad it turned out the way it has.

I'm writing The Great American Novel.
Julie is taking amazing photographs.
It feeds our souls.

We spent a week in Utah and Arizona this fall.

It raised our spirits.

We are looking forward to this new year,
whether our plans are turned upside down,
or our dreams fulfilled,

for all the things we will add,

and let go of.

A little snow shower just blew through
filling the air around the house
like a snow globe
then rushing down the canyon like a dervish.
obscuring the eastern view of the city and the High Plains.

Out the west window I can see the pile of firewood
looking like a great boulder under the gray tarp.
Looking too small, actually.
I got six cords in this year.
One cord too short, by my reckoning now.
But not bad for a summer's work,
especially a summer I never expected to spend here.
Or this winter.

But here we are, just the same.

Thank God.

Wishing each of you the very best in this bright new year.

May your dreams come true.

All our best,

as always,

-------   ric and julie

ricandjulie@stellers-park.com

PS:

The final entry in our Colorado Journal can be found

here.

and,

here

is a link to a brief digest of the journal
a selection of our favorite memories from 2000 - 2006.