The amazing thing about summer in the terrible high desert is that when it finally gets here, it isn’t summer any more. That is, nothing like emigrant flatlanders remember. I’m not complaining, though! Here it is July, but that down comforter stays right on the bed. In a few weeks, I’ll be closing windows, too.
Whether that makes me complain will depend upon our housing outlook for the fall. Everything I’m reading about the long-term forecast suggests intensifying moisture heading into winter, and that means snow. Lots and lots of snow. No mas, as the saying goes, not on The Road the County Forgot. (Give me a different setting, let it come…)
Fortunately, our next house is out there waiting for us. Consciously, I mean. It’s hoping we find it and wants to be ours. It’s located on a paved or plowed road with a view, nice trees, a big wood stove, space for two studios, room to garden, and a good-sized kitchen. (A huge elm tree is not growing out of the “foundation” and my tools aren’t leaning against the side of the house.) There’s an honest-to-god closet. We have a washer and a dryer. All our stuff fits inside like an actual home. It’s decent enough that we can sell it when they send me to dugout canoe hospice in the Seychelles—that’s the part where I’m propped up with a paddle in my hands and launched into the lagoon; I have great drugs, a big hat, plenty of water, and die with the sun in my eyes on a white sandy beach.
Meanwhile, it’s cloudy and cool and (gasp!) rains now and then. There are actually bugs. The pow-wow is this week, come rain or come shine. Then the fiestas, my birthday, and all… It’s time for a change. Keep walking, stay healthy, and on with the show.