I had about six or so inches of snow when I woke up yesterday. It was just like home. Again. Fresh and wet. I was cutting a trail on my bicycle all the way into town. It was cool. I had known it was going to snow, so I expected that part. Still, it was a surprise to see how much.
When I woke up, I listened to the snow fall for an hour or so while continuing to enjoy the warmth of my little igloo. Then I started hearing what may have been a drip or creak. This worried me enough that I opened my eyes and looked around. It was not a drip, the tent was creaking because of the weight of the snow. My walls were leaning inward a great deal.
The thing I didn't like about the two sudden days of Island Park October, was that even an amateur cub/boy scout tracker could have tracked me from my church house to my camp. That made me a bit nervous. For the most part, my camp is out of sight, and, therefore, out of mind. Leaving such an obvious track straight to my place is not the most desirable thing to have to do in this area, with as many people who hate the homeless and despise the needy.
As much as it made me homesick, I still hate snow and cold. I have hated that all my life. There was a reason I came to Satan George, Utah, after all.