Paul Hooge Eight inches of snow fell on the deck, followed by twenty-two days of Indian Summer with blue bird skies, cold starry nights, and the sound of snow buns hissing in the distance. A late autumn high-pressure bubble sits on us again, but this is not unusual for the Colorado Rockies. I remember making snow on a 250’ bump in the Ohio landscape back in 1964, about a decade into the history of man-made snow. The place was called Snow Trails, and a friend and I were responsible for putting the snow on those trails. Joe Malina, a Czech immigrant and cross-country Olympian, who later became known as “Snow Joe” at Park City, Utah, was a master at making snow; however, barely 20, we were amateurs who blew as much ice as snow while Joe slept. In the morning, Joe would critique our work; giant ice stalactites hanging from lift cables glittering in the morning sun. “Glaciers, you’ve made me glaciers.” was all he often said; then he would bulldoze everything with an ancient John-Deer creating good base material! In early December, I remember blowing snow onto brown grass and curling autumn leaves, trying to turn a cow pasture into a respectable ski hill. Now, I listened to the sound of the snow guns of a new generation on a big mountain. As the sun rises on another perfect day I ask myself “Where the heck is winter?” Sure, many of our friends over 50 love this little interlude of sun, lunching on the deck, and so do I, but I’m really here for the winter. Sunrise over our mountain is around 7:30 A.M. now, and I watched it this morning just as the light caught the distant peaks across the valley and slowly flowed like a river of dawn back toward its own source. The bears are usually hibernating by now, but in the garden below our deck, there were fresh prints heading for the neighbor’s dumpster. A mountain lion has taken up residence at this end of the valley, and I have arranged my morning bike ride to avoid its territory. Soon, snow will drive the deer and elk down valley and the lion will follow. The bear will find a den and skis will replace my bicycle. Snow will eventually cover the split-rail fence behind the house. We live at the edge of wilderness where the mountains rise above 12,000 feet and the house sits at 9,275 feet. The mountain lion is a new resident, the moose returned only a few years ago to join the elk, deer and bear. In summer, we all share this space, but in winter, they leave it to us along with the fox, a few coyotes, and the winter birds. Winter can last for six months and in some years, such as this one, it moves in slowly, but can continue through May. Winter makes you stronger, physically and emotionally while forcing you to be creative. Some researches assert that over a period of thousands of years, winter helped us to evolve. Perhaps winter is in our genes, even though some individuals resist while others embrace it. When we are compelled to make our own snow, it must be that our genes are acting out.