A White Mountain Sleigh Ride

In a One-horse Open Sleigh

THE DAY HURRIES TOWARD ITS END LIKE A LATE CHRISTMAS shopper. Home from work, I carry in wood, build a fire, warm the house, and feed the dogs and cats. Only one thing could persuade me to leave the comfort of home and hearth on this cold night - a sleigh ride in Greer. A sleigh is magic. Santa Claus girds the globe in one night on his sleigh, and time stands still.

I'm getting ready to go out, and I'm thinking of my favorite childhood Christmas present: a white rabbit-fur hood and muff. I was six or seven, and I wore them even to school, so by the end of winter the muff looked like something a farm dog dragged home.

But this isn't Minnesota, and I'm not a child. This is the White Mountains of Arizona-home - and I'm a grandma. I put on my snow boots and lined denim jacket. As I go out the door, I can almost hear my mother's voice from the far distance of childhood, "Bundle up!" I wonder whatever happened to muffs.

I leave the streetlights of Pinetop and drive through the dark corridor lined with pines and country clubs, then out into the sudden gaudy brilliance of the Hon-Dah Casino. The parking lot is packed with modern-day prospectors hoping to strike it rich on electronic gaming machines. I am seeking something else - enchantment.

A winter night like any other. Snow is predicted. Patches of black ice to watch for on State Route 260. Automatically I watch for game along the highway right-of-way, even though most of the deer and elk have migrated to lower elevations by now. I've driven this highway past McNary and Horseshoe Cienega and the Sunrise ski area probably 200 times. But I'm not prepared for tonight's show of color.

As my pickup climbs to the top of the pass, I look in the rear view mirror, then stop to marvel at a bright ribbon of tangerine along the western horizon. Dull clouds have lifted like a theater curtain on the grand finale of the day. The near peaks are magenta in reflected sunset. Behind them, teal blue mountains against a winter sky of mauve and lavender.

Climbing again, to Big Cienega where sheep graze in summer. A cloud has settled down over the mountain, closing out the day. Snow begins to fall, light, dry flakes like ashes from a campfire.

Dark forests cluster on each side of the road as I turn off onto State Route 373 and begin the descent to Greer. At 8,300 feet, the village lies in the lap of the mountains. Greer is a destination, not a town people pass through to get somewhere else. Greer attracts people for special occasions, such as birthdays, anniversaries, or honeymoons. Scattered lights break out of the darkness along the valley of the upper Little Colorado River.

Amberion Englevson came early to this isolated valley with his horses to raise grain. His life was cut short by a horse, but his name remains on a landmark, Amberion Point. In 1879 Latter-day Saints were sent by Brigham Young to colonize the Little Colorado River valley.

Among the first were Americus Vespucius Greer, a former Texas ranger, and others tough enough to wrest a living from the short growing season of the mountains. They raised grain and cut wild hay, which they freighted, via McNary and the Cooley Ranch, to the cavalry at Fort Apache. For their own use, they raised livestock and vegetables and picked a profusion of wild berries. The imagination conjures scenes of their life and times amidst the log cabins and quiet streets of Greer.

I drive to Greer Lodge and am told to make myself comfortable in the bar while the driver, Dean Wade, hitches up the sleigh.

The inn has knotty pine walls, a rock fireplace, and a view of trout ponds, mountains, and meadow. It smells like Christmas: scents of pine from the big decorated tree, meat roasting in the kitchen. It sounds like Christmas: laughter, glasses clinking, logs snapping in the fireplace.

Then I see it. Outlined in white Christmas tree lights, the sleigh waits in the meadow below the lodge. My mind falls back to childhood once more. Great wet flakes of snow on noses and eyelashes Above our mufflers. We children were bundled into the big wooden farm wagon on runners, blankets tucked around our feet and legs. The driver sat high above us, made sure we were all secured, then signaled the horses to "yiddap."

Muscles strained beneath the shaggy black winter coats of the huge draft horses pulling the wagon sleigh. Finding their rhythm, the team trotted down the snowpacked streets, heads nodding, bells pure and crystal in the silence of winter. Frosty breath streamed from their nostrils in the subzero cold. Someone led us in song: Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way; oh what fun it is to ride in a one-horse open sleigh-ay!

It never really occurred to me what a "one-horse open sleigh" was until tonight. This one at Greer is a beauty: wooden frame

(LEFT) The frame of the sleigh, handmade in Minnesota in 1888, was fashioned from hickory and oak, the curved ends from cottonwood. (BOTTOM, LEFT) O'er the fields we go, from left, Jessica Caldwell, Erin and Cameron Stevenson, laughing all the way. (BELOW AND TOP, RIGHT) Dean Wade outfits the horse with blinders and brass bells of various sizes so the sounds harmonize as the horse moves. (RIGHT) Ike, more attentive at the start of the trip, Wade, and passengers, from left, Denise Caldwell, Cameron Stevenson, Craig and Jessica Caldwell, make ready for their frosty ride across the snowy meadow.

In a1 Open sleigh

polished and gleaming in the light from the lodge. Dean lets me sit in the driver's seat with him. A couple from Chandler celebrating their 10th wedding anniversary sits behind us. Kojak, the "one-horse" part of the outfit, turns his head to the side and nods, as if to say, "Let's get going." Kojak is a retired no-nonsense cutting horse. Any cow horse can drive cattle, but it takes brains, speed, and agility to separate cattle in a corral. At12 years of age, Kojak still carries himself proudly. He is restless tonight. He has a job to do. He wants to fly across the face of the moon like Santa's reindeer, but Dean holds him back. We feel the grace of the handmade craft as it slides over the snowy field. Ike, Dean's Australian shepherd, runs circles around us. Dean says the sleigh was made in Minnesota in 1888. The frame is oak and hickory; the curved ends are cottonwood. The metal parts are hand-hammered iron. Dean removed layers of paint to get at the natural wood. "Just think," I say, "when my grandmother was young, this was their only transportation in winter." Dean tells me how early settlers up north packed the roads after a snowstorm so the sleighs wouldn't get stuck. "They ran a big wooden cylinder pulled by a six-horse team over the road until it was hard. The horses could only go two miles before they gave out," he says. Kojak pulls us easily across a footbridge. The night air smells sweet and clean from the tamarisks and willows along the bank of the Little Colorado River. Thin dry flakes flutter around us. Across the meadow, the lights of Greer Lodge cast a homey glow on the snow. Ike hops into the front to ride the rest of the way home. When we get back to the lodge, a groupof children are waiting to take a sleigh ride. For one night, cartoons and video games and malls are forgotten. For one night, there is snow and a horse named Kojak and a real old-fashioned sleigh. For one night, time stands still. I hear our voices across the years: Dashing through the snow, in a one-horse open sleigh; o'er the fields we go, laughing all the way. The children pet Kojak. Someone takes a picture with a flash. They climb into the sleigh and wrap up in blankets. The bells on Kojak's collar ring as he steps out across the frozen meadow. They will remember this night.

WHEN YOU GO

For more information on sleighing and staying at Greer Lodge, write or call Greer Lodge, P.O. Box 244, Greer, AZ 85927; (520) 735-7216. Call ahead for the latest weather and snow conditions, which can change dramatically and with great alacrity in winter.