Читать книгу Shaped by Snow. Defending the Future of Winter онлайн

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Powder Paradise is my grandpa’s soul’s place: the womb from which he originated.

Growing

Glass bottles clinked against each other as I shrugged off the terry robe. Hanging it on one of the wooden pegs lining the wall, I pulled the beer bottles, already slightly wet with moisture, out of the large pockets of the robe. One of my cousins from my mother’s side of the family, Reyna, her three-year-old daughter, Kyler, and my mother were already in the pool.

It was a gorgeous, late-summer’s day at Snowbird. My cousin had flown in from Seattle with Kyler earlier that week and we were staying in a set of rooms at the Lodge, one of the hotel accommodations up Little Cottonwood Canyon. They were here for the Oktoberfest Snowbird hosts every August through October. We had spent the day at the event, listening to live music and entertaining Kyler. She still had face paint on as she floated around the pool in her water wings, her cheeks striped with the orange and black of a tiger.

I slipped into the pool next to my mother, grateful for the moment of peace. In a few hours, Oktoberfest would close for the day and this pool would be crammed with people, but for now we were the only ones enjoying it. The event had been packed; we could barely move through the crowds. Snowbird can experience some of its busiest days during Oktoberfest, with more customers coming up for the beer on these days than on a powder day.