Editorial: Bombs away
We’ve had some colder-than-average mornings already in this winter which is especially noticeable for those few of us who are up well before dawn, a category that not only includes the hardy souls who are in the gym at that hour, by choice, but also some laborers who are out salting walkways and plowing roads, which can be unpleasant work generally aggravated by lack of choice in the matter.
In this category we should also include the misled soldiers of the Russian army, who probably are huddled in trenches as we write, not sure if or when they will come under bombardment from Ukrainians who are defending their homes. It’s enough to put one in mind of Valley Forge, but with the roles reversed. Some of those Russian troops were plucked off the streets of Moscow and sent to Ukraine with no training and little gear, as punishment for protesting the invasion — something else perhaps to keep in mind when we get huffy about “free speech” on Twitter.
But there isn’t much other bad news about winter, at least not this year, not here, not yet. What there is lately on these cold mornings is an austere beauty in high valleys as the fog lifts and, sometimes, sundogs appear. And there is the sense not only of a busy town soon to face another day but also of great plans afoot.
Skiers already know that this season is off to a booming start. Dogs know, too, from the sound of the avalanche bombs, another kind of good news if they can stand it (our border collie may not know what they are, but he seems to know they’re not as alarming as thunder or fireworks). Those are some hard-working, gutsy ski-patrollers. Resort workers are already preparing for what should be a busy season, following our Condé Nast Traveler shout-out. The city is making charts to warn us of bad traffic days. Sundance is gearing up; soon attendees for climes where there are never sundogs will be deciding what to wear. They will have plenty of gear.
For now, while we still have Park City mostly to ourselves, it’s worth it, if you can stand it, to zip up your puffer to savor these mornings of rejuvenation — even as we scrape rime from windshields — and watch the mountains get painted vermilion.
By Thursday, there seemed to be the usual Sundance lull or lag. We went for a walk downtown, which was like visiting a place where a party had been and there might be one again; like when the mother returns in “The Cat in the Hat.”
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