Posted by: highmountainmuse | January 16, 2009

A winter river

Our son, Forrest, has a blog of his own called Highcountry Hillbillies.  It’s all about snowmobiling, which although I’m no snowmobiler, you can imagine we need the know how up here.  Well, Forrest has more than the know how.  He has the passion.  He loves every aspect of snowmobling, from riding the back country, to doing all kinds of “tricks” I’ll get into later like jumping and dropping (yikes), and even, as he calls it, “tweaking.”  (I call it “mechanicking.”)

 The view from one of the many ridgelines. And yes, the sky really is that blue!This is Forrest on a ride with Bob, way high up there where my snowshoes just don’t make it in a day!


Anyway, there’s a lot more to Forrest than snowmobiling, as you can imagine, growing up in this environment.  I’m definitely the loving and doting mom and could go on and on.  But I know you don’t need to read that!  What you might enjoy reading are his poems.  So I’ve asked him to be my “Guest Blogger” from time to time and share some of his poetry with you.  As you’ll see, it’s all about the mountain, his relationship with nature, and sometimes, even a little bit about snowmobiling. I hope you enjoy.



A Winter River  

 By Forrest N. Getz


As my feet come down upon the snow and ice,

The beast roars beneath,

Holes in the ice and snow

Reveal its maw and malice,

And now, I make my way across,

Step by step,

Breath by breath,

Wait by wait.


It is odd indeed,

That we fail to notice the power beneath,

As the crisp water polishes

The rocks, undersized to large,

Rolling, flinging, pushing

The small ones rush, mill away at the big,

Hoping to dub them one of their own.


The ice is melted slowly,

Between water and snow,

Brittle places give away,

Leaving water to be seen,

Making a network of “islands”

To be woven through.


The snow is the crust,

Hiding the ice; it conceals the weak

As it concedes into the water,

Gravity takes the oppressive and propels the mixture south.


I have been granted to cross this time,

But I may not always be so lucky

I can only use my best judgment, 

I am not so Grande as it itself

The mighty Rio is impulsive – abiding by the weather

For the two are intertwined.


Endowing to us water to bathe, drink, and flourish

The Rio Grande is a double-bladed sword:

You can cut, but cut can you be also.



  1. As a teacher, I feel I could learn a great deal from having Forrest in my class. What a joy it must be for you and Bob to be his parents!

  2. Thank you, Frances. There is nothing in this world I feel more grateful for than Forrest.

  3. What a great poem. I found myself holding my breath hoping to make it over the river!

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