Grabbing two hours on a Saturday morning

Let me tell you about this Saturday morning. After getting up at around 7:30, I ventured outside wearing my IceBugs (running shoes with metal spikes) and jogged 25 minutes with the dog. The sun reflected on the high peaks, and the air felt significantly warmer than it did yesterday, when temps were -18C.

On the road lay a carpet of fresh powder snow, disturbed by a set of tire tracks. While jogging, I was awed at seeing the outlines of a multitude of snow laden pine trees. How distinct each tree appeared!

After a shower and bringing the kids to ski race training, I met friends who live on a sunny, southeastern facing slope. The mood was jovial and there was even a snow ball fight and wrestle to start the day.

The group split up. Most were snowboarders, who went off into the forests to find some jumps and trees to scare, while my new friend Barry and I enjoyed the near-empty and buttery pistes. I practiced some newly-learned carving techniques, and as a stratus layer began to spread in from the west, covering up the cerulean sky, I thanked providence and the privilege of grabbing those two hours of pure bliss.

A mountain commute

Part of my morning commute is on the Promenade, or main-street

So what does my commute look like in the Swiss Alps?

After a typical routine that begins at 6:30 a.m. and that includes feeding the birds, the dog, the children, and trying to remember each piece of ski equipment needed at school that day, I usually have to scrape ice from the inside and outside of my car's windshield and windows. And that's after having to shovel it out from under a few meters of snow. At around 8:10, the children have climbed into the car and the house's front door has been locked, we depart, heading down our icy, snowing driveway, and steep, one-lane road that is more than often coated with ice.

At 8:17, we arrive in the neighboring village, the kids jump out of the car, and after saying "bye mom", they head off carrying their school bags and ski gear. I turn around and head to the next village, where I usually park in spot number 59 in the underground parking. I insert four francs forty in the central meter, then head out onto the Promenade. It's a chilly yet peaceful walk. The luxury shops will not open for another half an hour or more. The farmer wives set up their food stands, while a portly dark-haired waiter wipes off café tables and puts out ashtrays. A lawyer in a long dark overcoat and round spectacles walks in the other direction, and a street worker in orange reflective rain gear uses a long-handled stick to pick up garbage. Further up, another worker wearing a wide black brimmed hat scrapes ice on the road to free up a street drain.

When I finally sit down in front of my three oversized computer screens, I feel refreshed and ready for the morning's work. I could be anywhere... New York... San Francisco...

After four hours, it's lunch time. I put on my coat and return to Swiss village life. A banker and his girlfriend sun themselves on a bench, smoking cigarettes, smiling, and nodding as I pass by. There are tourists milling about, strolling in and out of boutiques, and the farmers wives are busy selling their bread, cheese, and cookies, and fresh vegetables in summer.

I stop to buy some cookies.

"Wie geht's Diana?" asks Erika, one of the farmer's wives.

"Gut, danke und Dir?" I respond. Meanwhile, a banker I've seen before collects change that Erika is handing him. He counts it. I make a joke about bankers counting money and ending up with more money than they started with. He doesn't laugh, but smiles and heads into the bank. I feel guilty for teasing him. UBS is going through a hard time.

After paying for my cookies and extending greetings to Erika's husband (a mountain guide and one of my father's friends), I find my car free of ice and head back to my house in the mountains, where my little dog will greet me with much happiness.

Dog eats mouse, including tail

Here is a video of my dog eating a field mouse. I know it's gross, but you have to understand that mice are a problem in the Swiss Alps, and my dog is being very useful in playing a part in controlling their population. I just wish he had left me the tail, so I could have taken it to the commune and gotten my one franc.

Farmers confirm that this year has been particularly good for mice and bad for farmers. It seems the field mice have taken over and dug up entire fields, leaving their annoying mounds of dirt everywhere.

I am still wondering how my dog can still eat his dog food...

Back from hiatus

After a four-month break, I am back!

For those of you who may have been wondering what happened to me, well I am happy to report that I began a new job. I now work for a media software company based in Gstaad called Consenda AG. Consenda caters to local and regional newspapers and it has developed a content delivery system that enables local newspaper publishes to bring news and advertising to digital users (for more information, check out http://en.consenda.com/).

In the meantime, please send me your ideas for future blog posts!

The mountain

Photo: Lisette Prince

A friend who is far away is sometimes much nearer than one who is at hand. Is not the mountain far more awe-inspiring and more clearly visible to one passing through the valley than to those who inhabit the mountain?

-Khalil Gibran

Back at the river's source

The waters of the Saane (or Sarine)
end up in the Rhine River
eventually. Photo: Diana Oehrli

One of the many river sources of the Rhine is located just nine kilometers from my house. It blows my mind to think that waters originating here in my backyard travel through Europe and end up in the North Sea.

And it's gotten me thinking that my move to the Alps can be likened to a return to the source, my early childhood place. And low and behold, I just read that life can be compared to a river, and that it, too, can be divided into three parts:

• the source is our past
• the channel is our present
• the mouth is our future

But these parts can only be divided conceptually, because they must remain in balance.

When I find myself thinking that my life was better in the 'old days', I become blind to the reality of the present. Have I fully understood how the past has affected me? With the right tools and introspection, I learn what the root causes are for my distorted thinking, my fears, and my need for instant gratification and control. Instead, by validating my past, I am free to heal old wounds, and thereby, avoid repeating the same mistakes and behaviors.

I must also face the present, which flows like the uninterrupted current of a river. We just can't stop that clock! And living in the present can be as peaceful as it can be exciting, (my recent skiing experiences in powder snow could be an example). But I must be careful. When I live only for the present, I find that I have little regard for either precedent or consequence. How often have I agreed to do something without really thinking about how this action might fit into my schedule, and then later, to my horror realized that I didn't really have the time for it? The consequence was stress, breaking a promise, or losing credibility. Or, how about the times I said "yes"--when I really meant "no"--forgetting the bad thing that happened the last time I said "yes."

And finally, I must plan for my future. There is nothing more satisfying than to plant the seeds for those trees that will bear fruits later. However, I can't just live for the future. When I live only for some deferred reward, I strain myself too much, denying myself rich and satisfying experiences. And this could lead to burnout and hurt relationships. There needs to be a balance. It's okay to devote some energy each day to building the future, but not at the expense of the present.

Just as a river can be said to have parts that cannot be clearly divided, so too should we consider the whole of our time when deciding how to spend our lives.
-Deng Ming-Dao

Everything is as it should be

Photo: Lisette Prince

"What's your favorite thing about staying up on the alp during the summer months?" a woman asked a seven-year old local farmer boy.

"The sunrises and the sunsets," the boy responded.

This is why I choose to live here.

For those of you who don't know, in the summertime, many local farming families move up to higher pastures (higher than 1,400 meters above sea-level) to graze their cattle on delicious mountain grass and herbs. This is a time when they make their best cheese. The families live in huts using wood fires for warmth, and candles for light, as most do not have electricity (unless it's milking time, then the generators come on). This is a world far away from XBoxes, computers and other technological devices. This is a world where children have to rely on their imaginations for fun.

I like living close to nature and in communion with people whose lives are--for the most part--absorbed in in the evolution of life without hesitation or contradiction. Here, there is no alienation. Everything belongs. Everything is as it should be.

People often ask me why I've chosen to live alone in such a remote area. They ask me, don't you get stir-crazy? Don't you need shopping, cultural events, and people?

Yes, I admit. Sometimes it's fun to leave the mountains, view an exhibition or concert, wander busy streets, sip coffee in cafés, check out the latest trends and fashions, feel the excitement in the cacophony of traffic and voices.

Yet, for most of my daily living, there is nothing more soothing than living in a place where full moons are so evident that you can't help but pause to admire their roundness, their brightness, and the light they cast on ridges and slopes; or a place where stars twinkle above, their splendor still unmarred by light pollution. How about those sunsets and sunrises? No drama on stage can compare to a morning light illuminating the top of a mountain in a surreal glow. Then, there are the snowstorms that remind us of our vulnerability; and the droughts that remind us to conserve water; and the rain storms that replenish our aquifers and remind us to be grateful.

I find that being integrated into the constant flow of nature helps me to let go, to enter freely into its process, and become absorbed by it. Life becomes evident. Even as I've yearned for love, companionship, understanding, and fellowship, there have been times when I've pushed it all away with petty emotions, plans, and constant questioning. I've let hatred or pride cloud my perceptions, and in doing so, I've hurt myself.

So, as I let myself go, entering freely into the process of nature, I feel myself becoming absorbed by it. By integrating myself in that process, I find success. Then the sequence of things becomes as evident as the coming of the sun and moon, and everything is as it should be.