I digress. Silver Lake is hardly a hard core hike. Or even medium core. More like a city park, 15 miles out of town.
Here's the most scenic part of the walk. Am I talking about the tawny grasses and golden willows? About my spouse's backside? Or about the fact that he is walking around the lake using only a single crutch? His blood clot is still there, but is improving. The physical therapist has him working the leg already, so it will be in good shape for surgery when the clot does clear.
Silver Lake is up Big Cottonwood Canyon, about 3,000 feet higher than Salt Lake City, so the leaves are starting to turn color already.
It's always a little bittersweet for us to come up here. Our previous house (cabin, really) is only a short walk away. I used to take the kids to Silver Lake all the time. In the winter, when the lake was frozen, I used to come down here after the kids were in bed and cross-country ski by the light of the moon. It was romantic, looking back. So, whenever we start thinking these wistful thoughts, we have a quick reality check, called, "Five Truths about Living in a Cabin without Winter Road Access at 9,000 Feet". AKA five reasons we aren't still living there:
- After a six-foot powder-dump, there is no time to ski in it if you are busy shoveling it all off the deck.
- One forgotten item from the store? No going back. Once, I needed onion for a stew and had forgotten to buy any. I took some plastic bags and went skiing at Brighton. I ordered a hamburger, went to the burger-bar and loaded my pockets with onions, did a few more runs, went home and made stew. Expensive onion.
- Shoveling a parking space out of five feet of snow out on the road, going to work the next morning, coming home and finding someone else happily ensconced in it.
- Descending into Salt Lake in June and seeing everyone else's yards and gardens, knowing that you still have five feet of (rotten, ugly) snow in your yard.
- Sled the garbage out. Sled the children in. Sled the dirty diapers out. Sled the groceries in. Put the groceries away and start cooking supper. Need tomatoes. Remember buying tomatoes. See that the tomatoes are no longer present. Get bundled up again and start walking the snow-covered footpath, looking for the tomatoes. Find them under six inches of snow, frozen solid.
- And one bonus reason: it was a drag getting home with an infant and a toddler, wading through snow up to my waist and having to start a fire in the stove first thing every evening. After I shook the snow out of my undies.
BUT, for all winter sucked and lasted about 9 months, fall was fabulous. Damn, I should have had a blog when I lived up there. Plenty of material.