Three years ago the snow settled in late September. Two years ago, in the first week of October. Last year, the same.
Mid October now is upon us; temperatures still rise above freezing nearly everyday; snow flirts briefly, then shies away. The ground is wet and the streets are muddy. Our shoes are muddy. Our floors are muddy. The river has dropped and muddy gravel bars clog the mighty Yukon. Our world is mud.
Some of my students hate the winter, but the hunters are eager to set their traplines. “Bring on the snow,” they say. And so do I. Snow may be wet, but wet beats mud any day.