When it snows in June in Summit County, we typically remind ourselves that we need the water. We’re simply putting on that brave face, the one that’s so ready to unleash a stream of expletives over weather that’s not atypical for 9500-plus feet.
Long after most of the country has transitioned to flip flops and sundresses, it snows here. And sometimes, like this year, it snows in August, too. For the last two months – the only sure-bet summer months – I’ve been maintaining my brave face.
“We need the water.”
“The flowers are spectacular.”
“Maybe we’ll get back into a normal monsoon season, like it used to be.”
But now, when I’m suiting up in fall riding gear, and especially post-ride when I’m rubbing the feeling back into cold toes, that stream of expletives is on my tongue. It slips out.
Then for dinner, I have a spinach and kale salad with wild raspberries and goat cheese. I drizzle chocolate syrup over more raspberries for dessert. The next morning, I top my French toast with more fresh, wild raspberries. I add them to yogurt at lunch.
It doesn’t make up for missing out on a real summer. I’ll probably run out soon. And, unlike in Louisiana, where there’s more wild blackberries than I could ever dream of picking, I likely won’t find another big stash of wild raspberries. But for a while, at least my menu looks like summer.