If ever there was a week that reminds us why we choose to live here, this week was it. The storm last weekend left me with about 3 inches of snow, with the fall color showing through it. I got up Monday morning and ran out with the camera just as the sun was breaking over the mountain. It was amazing – snow-flocked cottonwood trees reflecting on the surface of the pond; a layer of white on the deep red of the old Farmall parked on the front lawn; and that blue, blue sky.
The dog followed me out and was having a great time with her nose in the snow on the deep grass, plowing through it. She jumped at a squirrel in a tree. That’s such a regular part of their morning that they must schedule an appointment. The snow avalanched out of the tree into her face. I think I actually heard the squirrel laugh. The dog shook it off and charged on, nose in the snow. She hadn’t seen snow since last spring. I always wonder what they remember about weather changes. One morning she steps out of a warm house and it’s summer, and the next day she steps out of the same door into snow. It doesn’t seem to affect her at all. But if a throw rug on the hardwood floor is a few inches out of place, it’s as if the planets were knocked out of alignment.
The snow melted off quickly, and it was back to beautiful fall days. It’s been cold in the mornings and I finally gave in and turned the furnace on. First it was just a few minutes in the morning, but finally I just left it on. It feels good to open a window or two in the afternoon, but it’s cold at night.
I’ve been inventing reasons to be outside, working on little projects that probably don’t need to be done, and cutting a little firewood. The firewood project is one that I let drag on for weeks, cutting up a deadfall tree here, and another there, splitting a few logs every now and then. I used to make it a huge two-day project, ending with back pain and exhaustion. It’s working better to bite it off in smaller pieces. The chainsaw runs smoothly in the warmth of the afternoons, and a couple of hours of that is a pleasant enough workout instead of a fight for survival.
The other day the afternoon was so nice I just had to be outside. I didn’t have anything handy to read, had just cleaned up from some other project and didn’t want to get dirty again. I had already been for a couple of walks with the dog. So there really wasn’t anything specific to do. But I couldn’t be inside on an afternoon like that. So I sat in a chair on the front porch and just soaked it all in. Could the sky possibly be any bluer? Are the aspen leaves changing right in front of me, and can I see it happen? The wind rustles the aspen leaves differently this time of year. There is a sound to fall that is as unique as the color and the feel in the air.
I don’t know how long I sat there just gazing on it all, but long enough that the shadow moved across the porch and suddenly I was cold in the shade. I thought about going in, but instead moved the chair out on the lawn where I could get a few minutes more sun. Putting the deck chair out on the lawn apparently seemed most extraordinary to the dog. She flew into action. She ran circles around the chair, then expanded her orbit to go from side to side in the yard, did a couple of laps around the house, barking at the squirrel tree as she passed. She rolled in the grass then took powerful leaps over things that were there only in her imagination. It was a regular happy fit, with a Formula 1 figure-eight track that went under the deck, behind the garage, over the woodpile. Each lap included a bark at the squirrel, a nip at the front tire on the Farmall and a quick pass by me.
The happy fit went on for a good five minutes, and then she flopped down just in front of me, belly up and legs splayed out. My dog has the most amazing tongue. She’s a big dog, one of those purebred Swede Alley retrievers. The front half looks like a lab, the back half could be great Dane. Her tongue apparently came from a Komodo dragon. She practically trips over it. So there she was, sprawled out on her back, with her tongue stretched out half way across the yard. You just have to give a good belly rub under conditions like that.
I got a great little bike ride in, through tunnels of red leaves. There aren’t many of the maples over in my area, so riding through them in Park City is always a treat. The ride selection this time of year is dictated more by the chance to go through the leaves than things like the steepness or length of the ride. We talked about a couple of options, but the decision was pretty obvious – we went where the leaves would be better. Not just in the trees, but the trail itself was covered with red maple leaves.
There’s a lot of work involved in getting the ranch put to bed for winter. There are ditches that need to be closed up and fortified against next spring’s runoff (assuming there is enough snow to make one next year). Some of the out buildings need attention before the snow really hits. But in all the little chores, I’ve managed to leave time for a couple of happy fits of my own.
Tom Clyde served as Park City attorney in the 1980s and is the author of “More Dogs On Main Street.” He has been a columnist at The Park Record for nearly 20 years.