Nine years ago today, Jerry and I went skiing on a snowy morning in Steamboat Springs, Colorado. We went over to the backside of the mountain, and skied the Morningside Lift line, and then were heading back to the frontside when it became obvious that visibility was going to be a serious issue. As we were heading down through waist-deep powder, the clouds came down over the top of the mountain and we found ourselves in the middle of a “White Out,” when all you can see in any direction is white.
We stopped on the hill, waiting for it to pass. Snow came down all around us, and we could hear voices downhill from us, but not even the trees on the sides of the slope were visible anymore. Just Jerry, me, and white everywhere. Gravity told us where “down” was, but that was the only clue, really.
In that intense moment, Jerry asked me to be his wife. He had the ring in his pocket, he said, but I’d have to wait until we got to the bottom of the mountain because he didn’t want either of us to drop it in 4 feet of powder. And we were both shaking so much that it probably would have been dropped.
I said yes, and the clouds lifted a little bit — we could see the trees on the side of the slope so we knew where the boundary was. We headed downwards, still guided mostly by gravity than anything else, giggling and crying the entire time. Finally making it back to the gondola building at mid-mountain, we decided to take the safe way down and ride rather than ski in the limited visibility. He gave me the ring in the gondola on the way down, and it was (is) perfect.
No pictures of the exact moment, but if any had been taken, they’d be all white anyway. And I love that we were so completely isolated right then. So many proposals are done in public, and I treasure ours so much because we were the only witnesses to it.