Take one best sister friend from Montana, add her two beautiful daughters, fold in a Fall wedding for one in Tahoe, and poof!–the perfect opportunity for a sliver of a vacation.
I don’t know the last time in the past five years that I’ve gotten away, away–really far away from SoFla to someplace entirely new. As much as I used to travel in the olden days of my life prior to living here, I had never been to Lake Tahoe.
Now I know why Rick over at South Florida Daily Blog is so enamored with his yearly vacation to Colorado and a dream to one day permanently live there.
Truth is, I am not a mountain person. I am a beach girl through and through. Mountains, if you must know, kind of scare me. They are so tall, the roads to drive through them so narrow and winding, the weather in them so mysteriously unrelated to that anywhere else–”Blizzard warning for elevations above 4000 feet; 75 and sunny in the valley.”
In an even odder way, mountains make me feel confined, almost trapped, in those beautiful valleys–hemmed in and surrounded by snow-capped beauty that is so many miles away from the wide-open waters of either coastline.
You see, for me, it’s not about loving a beach vs. a mountain vista. It’s all about living in a geographic aisle seat.
And then I saw this:
And rode up a chairlift to see this:
And stopped as much as I could to smell the summertime flowers we can’t grow in SoFla:
And savored the feel of a soft-as-velvet-grass under my toes, so different from the heat-tolerent spikey stuff on which my dogs despise to walk:
And marveled at the drivers who didn’t honk–ever, and who did stop for a pedestrian.
And was surprised by checkout ladies and front-desk clerks who smiled and chatted with us.
And embraced an elusive something called “Tahoe Time.”
And wondered what life might be like living where you sometimes leave your house via a second-floor deck to step out onto three feet of snow.
Hey, no place is perfect.