“Turn out the lights, the party's over.”
Nothing like a Willie Nelson song to start a column.
Summer with my friends at 9,800 feet in eastern Carbon County is over, and I can't honestly say I feel bad about it. To borrow a phrase from the great Dolly Parton, this summer was 10 pounds of whooping it up, in a five-pound bag.
And at this age (old), a guy can only stand so much whooping it up. I'm beat.
Around Father's Day, when my Snowy Range neck of the woods finally sheds the last of the winter snow, the Friday afternoon traffic on Dell Range here in Cheyenne makes it abundantly clear that it's time to head for the high country. Time to escape.
For the last 44 summers, there has followed a series of weekly stays in the high country, then ducking briefly back home to work, mow the lawn, maybe return a book to the library, then stock up on Pabst Blue Ribbon, Ranch Style Beans, and cheap steaks for the next expedition.
I always look forward to the trip to the mountains, then after a couple days I look forward to the comforts of home. Forget to pack cream for the coffee, buns for the brats, or nails for a project, and it's a three-hour round trip to Laramie over rough roads for whatever you forgot. Makes you appreciate the ease of shopping at home.
Then, come September, cold nights, a frozen water line in the morning, and bow hunters lurking around make it clear that it's time to close up for the season. Summer's just a memory, as more and more neighbors pack up and head home.
When it gets too cold to sit on the porch in the evening and gaze into the campfire, it's time to go home and spend evenings watching “Gunsmoke” re-runs on TV.
When the last hummingbird heads south, it's a sure indication that maybe you've stayed too late at the party.
The good news this summer was that our neighborhood bear – which made a pest of himself last summer – was nowhere to be seen this year. That's good, because last year a bear was breaking into cabins (not good), so Game and Fish came up and set their trap.
The game warden from Elk Mountain explained that if they caught the bear, it would be killed, to avoid bear/human confrontations.
So, we were glad they didn't catch our bear last year, and he's apparently found some new neighborhood to pillage.
My son, who hikes in the Snowy Range, says black bears are like “big raccoons,” and he laughs at me for being wary. But one bit a hole clear through a paint can last summer, so I remain leery.
This was a good year for the hummingbirds, and I solved the mystery of coloring the sugar water in the feeders.
After years of watching hummingbirds try to feed at my red Coleman lanterns, I figured the red food coloring in the sugar water helped attract them.
But I didn't dye the sugar water red this year, and we had plenty of hummingbirds. Probably enough red in the plastic feeders to attract them.
We notice that there's always one nasty, dominant hummingbird that tries to run off all the other hummingbirds, even though there's plenty of feed for all of them.
So I guess hummingbirds are just as bad as humans, jealously guarding their own meal ticket, even when there's plenty for everyone.
For the first time this year, we spotted two foxes lurking around the campfire, usually in the late evening. Kind of spooky. For years we've seen only one fox, so this represents a 100 percent increase in our fox population . (Pretty anecdotal, I admit.)
Foxes get a bad rap in children's literature, always chasing sleigh-loads of innocent little screaming children, no doubt planning to eat them for lunch. But we like foxes. They're like small, auxiliary dogs that you don't have to feed or take to the vet.
I'll finish with the next line from Willie's “Turn Out The lights, The Party's Over...”
“...They say that all good things must end.”
About sums it up, this Fall, at 9,800 feet.
Time to get some rest.
At home.
Dave Simpson can be contacted at DaveSimpson145@hotmail.com
