Joy and Snow: Desert Lessons in a Pandemic
I used to live in the coldest place in the country, Gunnison, CO. I weathered nine winters there, not seeing the ground (due to snow cover) from November through March (sometimes longer!). After one winter in the Land of Enchantment, I genuinely question my sanity for suffering through weeks of -20 degree days for so long. Yet, even though I am happy to no longer live in a Winter Wonderland, I still like to visit from time to time.
Monday proved the perfect opportunity. A slow morning for me, and a windy night brought snow to the Sandias. I pulled on my ski gear and packed my hand-me-down nordic skis (circa 1993) in my car, and headed East. About 20 minutes into my drive, the gray skies turned to snow, and as I wound up the backside of the Sandias, a familiar feeling passed over me. Winter greeted me with open arms.
I anticipated the swoosh of cold that greeted my cheeks as I opened my car door at the Ellis Trailhead lot. There was at least eight inches of snow on the ground, snow blowing in the air, and no Snowplows in sight. We were what they called, “socked in.” The few cars in the parking lot had the same idea as me; skiing!
I laced up my boots, clipped in, and moved quickly to the trees to get out of the wind. What waited for me inside the tall, swishing pines, was a snow globe like I had not seen in Albuquerque before. Fresh, soft snow passed under my skis, and I moved quickly along the forested trail to warm up my hands. (Not expecting that there would be *actual winter* waiting for me so close to Albuquerque, I made the mistake of wearing my thinnest gloves).
The wind had frozen the tree branches into icicles. The pine needles forming ornaments of ice above my head and beside me. I gazed in wonder. This was the first time I had stepped out of my prescribed Covid routine in… well, a really long time.
I passed other happy snow lovers. We all wore masks (something that was not hard to do, given the windchill.) We waved to each other and chatted from a distance. No one I noticed had “fancy” gear. Nearly everyone was on some version of my dated but perfectly functioning backcountry cross-country skis. One particularly friendly older man was on wooden skis that were at least 6-feet long, connected to his boots with three-pin bindings that could probably be in a museum. He did a perfect telemark turn, dropping his knee all the way to his ski, as we passed each other on one of the switchbacks among the trees.
Everyone commented on the beauty of the "Snow Globe,” and how lucky we were to be there. It was as if the ephemeral nature of a Powder Day in the desert, cast a spell of gratitude over us all; the lucky ones to be inside when Mother Nature shook the globe. There amongst the trees, in the cold, high above Albuquerque, I found a moment of joy that was more sorely needed than I had realized.
As we move into the 11th month of the reality that is the Pandemic, so much has changed for each and every one of us. I imagine for all of us, there are things we have had to give up this last year. We went without friends, and workspaces, and paychecks, and love, and connection, and so, so, so much more.
I would imagine though that for all of us, there were also things we gained in this new bizarre reality that is now our World. I imagine that within the Hard and the Lack and the Shifts; we all found hidden bits and pieces of ourselves, our families, our communities that we would not have otherwise. I believe that in this past year we discovered we are stronger than we knew.
I realize that my ski “adventure” may seem foreign to many of you. I also realize the privilege I have in being healthy and able to take myself to such a place, to be in nature. While I do not know, I hope that your choice to be in this community of Masa Madre, is one made out of the belief that WE ARE ALL CONNECTED, interwoven together by the very nature of our human spirit to keep going when things are hard. And that you know at the end of the day, WE ARE BETTER TOGETHER.
It is my goal in the project that is Masa Madre Micro Bakery y Más to serve the community, and thereby serve myself. I believe deeply in this. The Hard right now is undeniable. I will not attempt to take that away from anyone.
The need for Joy then, is equally if not more, undeniable. If there is anything the Pandemic has taught me, it is that in order to keep going, to keep being a good community member and Ancestor, we must invite joy into our lives. In caring for ourselves and loved ones, we need to remember that any good fight requires that we lighten our load once in a while.
So I ask you, what bring you lightness? What can you achieve in whatever state you are in currently that will make waking up tomorrow that much more fulfilling? Can you pause, and just for a second, invite in Joy?
Masa Madre was busier than I ever thought possible over the holidays. (Thank you for this!) As a result, I needed to take a pause in these first few weeks of January to figure out what’s next?
I realized sharing food and nourishment with community, fills my JOY cup to the brim. I love the creativity of cooking for you all, and truly appreciate the trust you have put in me. I also know that access to sustenance is a basic human right, and I will not stop working to bring nourishment to all community, as long as I am cooking. Sharing nourishment is an act of solidarity. NOT charity.
Thus, I am excited to announce our new Winter offerings. Whether adding Masa Madre to your menu or joining over your own home cooked meals, I hope you will find a way to (safely) commune with that which brings you JOY this season.
With immense thanks and gratitude,
Owner/ Founder/ Cook
Masa Madre Micro Bakery y Más