The 2021/22 ski season is officially in the books. It was hardly one for the books, but it’s over nonetheless. Most years, closing day feels a bit December 26th — met with a mix of fondness and melancholy as the festivities, excitement, and preparations that were months in the making are all neatly tucked away until Thanksgiving. But considering this season still feels like it never really started, storing the skis doesn’t seem quite as poignant this year.
For the most part, this winter went the way a lot of my relationships seem to. It started out strong, full of promise and potential, and then kind of fizzled out with no real warning. There were a few flickers of possibility again in March, with some intense flirting in the form of flurries, but no indication we’d be getting back together with winter exclusively. In the end, it was fun while it lasted, but didn’t really live up to all the hope and hype.
Given the conditions most of the season, anyone who hasn’t met their healthcare deductible yet should consider themselves lucky. I think the only group who made out better than the orthopedic surgeons are the snowplow drivers, who basically were able to take January and February off. By my estimation, most of them made about $500 an hour to dust off a few driveways.
I don’t know if it was the sub-par conditions, the alarming number of extra people, or simply my age, but I skied less this season than I have since moving to Park City; and that includes three separate years where my medical deductible was met by March. Mostly though, I think I was making up for lost time. After not traveling much due to Covid, I overcompensated and gave my passport a workout. Normally I wait until the tulips and daffodils make their springtime debut to jet off somewhere, this season though, I spent a bit of time in places where the flowers are always in bloom and drinks are served in hollowed out coconuts.
These vacations mean I’m likely in town for most of the mud season, which will take some getting used to; although I think I’m going to enjoy it. The tourists are of course gone now, along with a good chunk of locals. Half the town seems to be in Mexico at the moment, the other half in Moab. Going somewhere sunny and warm is typically the best part of ski season coming to an end.
But after this season, I might question my typical travel schedule, that in the past has meant I’ve skipped the mud. There’s something utterly enjoyable about the stillness in town right now. The simple joy of making a left turn or driving to Kimball Junction at any time I want. I never knew how much freedom there was in a casual 4pm run to Smiths. It’s been days since I’ve overheard someone ask, “Where is the liquor aisle?” while at the grocery store. I don’t have to pop a Xanax to go to Main Street. It’s the little things.
For the briefest time, our town is turned back over to its rightful owners. And it’s kind of a shame to miss it.