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

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Seventy years ago, when the gnarled trees were still rooted deep in the soil, a rainstorm halted work on that farm. Rather than waiting idly for the farm to dry, Baqui saddled up his horse and rode up Rock Canyon. It was late afternoon when he began his journey. Leaves, vibrant in the golden sun, contrasted against the dark, wet branches of scrub oaks and cottonwoods. The soothing scent of rain on soil stirred within the sultry air currents of the ravine. Somewhere up the canyon he came upon two pants-less women and their horses. My grandma Maxine and a friend had been caught in the rain while riding, and after the rain subsided they lit a fire and took off their pants to dry, never expecting that they weren’t the only travelers in the canyon that afternoon. It was the first time Grandma and Baqui met.

At my request, my ninety-three-year-old grandparents loaded themselves into their car so I could see one of the most beautiful places to watch summer turn to fall in the Wasatch. My grandpa agreed to the trip so he could cut another branch of crimson maple to brighten his kitchen. My grandma, her dementia keeping a mild smile on her face even through the bumps of the dirt road, came along for the ride.