Snow
It snowed again last night, not much, but on top of the foot still lingering in the backyard it seems like a lot. I know why the sight of snow makes me grumble. I’ve gone soft over the years and I’m not necessarily proud of it. I grew up in northern Wyoming, downhill skiing every Saturday and Sunday from the day the runs opened until they closed, so snow was a good thing and cold temperatures were part of life. What’s a little frostbite on the toes as long as you’re having fun? Being out on horseback in frigid temperatures and icy slopes wasn’t my favorite pastime, but I guess back then that was normal. I spent several years in the high plains of Wyoming where summers were short and it snowed horizontally. The wind kept the roads around town fairly clear, so the snow never really piled up. The highways leading north toward home were always bad in the winter, so I never expected anything different and never felt let down. Then there was Jackson Hole. If you love white Christmases, Thank