Shelter
by Anonymous

Most of us know the Meadow Cafe as a sunny spot to refuel midway through a fun day on the snow. A place to rest while children build snow people and forts and engage in all-out war as snowballs fly and shrieks of laughter fill the air. Stow your skis, snowshoes, or sleds next to the A-frame and glance up to loft windows adorned with paisley curtains. Step inside to order food and notice a pulldown ladder to the space above. The Meadow Cafe was also my winter home.

It was a special privilege to shelter in the heart of Bear Valley, to enjoy solitude and peace, wildlife up close, and the good company of friends.

Every day, I woke up to see the peaceful quiet meadow and trackless trails ready for all skiers. I loved the sound of the groomers, as most XC skiers do! At 5am, 5pm and 10pm, I listened and waited for the snowcats to pass by on their way to the meadows and the steeper terrain, and listened again for their safe return, knowing all trails would be tuned to beautiful perfection, untracked save for critters, especially Bob, the old coyote, who could not pass up an untracked groom.

The loft was a cozy place for one person and a few local critters. I had a squirrel friend I called Susie, a very chatty Douglas squirrel. Suzie looked in the bathroom window with one limp wrist so I knew it was her. I didn't feed the critters, but probably Susie stuck around for the crumbs on the lunch tables. Suzie was not the only animal sustained by the cafe. There was also a Stellar Jay who loved the crumbs and the drippings from the BBQ (aka French Dip). Jay squawked and scolded you from the peak of the roof when you cleaned crumbs off the outside tables.

Snowfall and snowstorms were magical. My friend and BVAC ski instructor, snowshoed out to the Meadow Cafe after dark as my dinner guest. By the time we finished dinner, the weather had turned into a blizzard. No matter how capable your guest, a good host does not let them wander off in a blizzard and risk never seeing them again. With much protest we both donned snowshoes and headlamps. When we got to the bridge, my friend insisted she could snowshoe the rest of the way to the BVAC store, where she was staying. Visibility was poor and you could not make out the trail to Highway 4 or the trail back to the warming hut. In fact, if you held your arm out straight you could barely see your hand. What you could see was falling, swirling snow. It was a full-on whiteout. We were laughing our asses off, thinking this must be what an acid trip is like! The next day I asked a friend if they had experienced that in the meadow before. The reply was “yes, a few times”. If you know this person, they weren’t speaking about the blizzard & headlamps!

I’ll leave you with one final observation. When I first lived there, I learned to love lying in bed in a snow storm, feeling snow, melt on my face, blown in from the old window above my bed. Happily, the window has been replaced with one that keeps out the wind and the snow.