Last Saturday will be remembered as the big dump of the season. As snowstorms go, it actually was kind of disappointing, especially after the TV weather people had hyped it up so much. But it was significant snow, and apparently that is going to be hard to come by this winter.  So I was prett y excited to get out there for a real powder day. I had skied Friday, and it was really pretty good. There’s very little open, but it was reasonable snow. People were cheering for the snow-making crew. Saturday, surely with the storm of the century, it was going to be great. My house is pretty remote. It’s not remote like The Colony, where you can drive for an hour and still smell what your neighbor is cooking, but it’s not on normal services.  To ski, I had to plow the road from my house to the highway. I had everything all set up, anticipating that winter would begin a month ago. It was going to be easy. Except that the snow would not go through the snowblower. Turned out, 45-horsepower wasn’t enough, and it packed in, iced up, and the 6-foot-wide snowblower became a 6-foot-wide ice cube in a matter of a few feet.  Plowing with the bucket on the front end loader made a mess. After an hour, it was pretty clear that I wasn’t going anywhere. There was a hurricane blowing anyway, so I decided I would just stick with the snow removal and call it good. When I got back to the house, a neighbor was lighting up the phone to report that her water was out. If hers was out, mine wasn’t far behind. I ran the neighborhood water system for decades, and finally insisted that somebody else take a turn. I texted the guy who is now in charge to report that the system was down, taking inappropriate joy in it not being my problem any more.   He reported that he was on a beach in Hawaii for two weeks. He’d get to it when he got home. Pee in the woods. So it became my problem. Some days are like that. I had a hunch what the issue was. At the bottom end of the system, we have always opened a hose in the winter to keep the line fresh and prevent freezing. That’s been the rule for probably 50 years.  But since the state of Utah required us to make “improvements” to the system, the inflow is constricted. The constant flow of the open hose eventually will run the tank dry. Nobody explained that to the owner of the house with the “always open” hydrant.  He discovered it was closed and did what he thought was the right thing. Then closed up his cabin for the winter and left. The guy who plows that part of the neighborhood had plowed all of 100 feet in mashed potato snow before the drive shaft fell out of his truck. The dead truck blocked the road, so I couldn’t drive down in the tractor. I had to walk it. Some days are like that. My hunch was right, and I closed the hydrant and the water pressure began to recover. Trudging back home, it crossed my mind that I could buy a house in town where guys from public works would plow the snow and be on call to fix the water issues. Without me, because I would be skiing. With the water system on the mend, I went back to snow plowing. The snow was only wetter and heavier by then. The only way to move it was to take the loader bucket off the tractor and attach the snow plow I bought from a friend’s brother-in-law’s cousin in Montpelier.  The changeover is supposed to be easy, but with the wet snow clumping up on the ground, I had a terrible time getting everything aligned and level. The longer that went on, the more I got thinking that condominium living had a lot to offer.  Plowing completed, I went back home for a late breakfast/lunch only to hear water gurgling in my mechanical room. Somehow, the line in the house had come loose and was leaking. Breakfast got delayed while I figured out how to fix that.  Everything in the room is stored in plastic bins that can take a good soaking. But still, it was a mess. Some days are like that. By the time I got that fixed, I was thinking that maybe what I want is full assisted living, where somebody cuts my food and brings it to me. And fluffs my pillows.  By evening, I was done. There was nothing in the fridge that didn’t require both thought and effort to turn into an uninspiring dinner. In the absence of the assisted living people, I drove into town for a pizza. I bet they served something nice in the assisted living place. With pudding.  Driving down the canyon, the sunset was just amazing. Looking in the rearview mirror, the alpenglow on the peaks to the east was like fire. I pulled over in a spot with a clear view and got out of the car to gawk until it vanished. It may have been one of the best sunsets I’ve ever seen. A moose came by to share it. Some days are like that. Tom Clyde practiced law in Park City for many years. He lives on a working ranch in Woodland and has been writing this column since 1986. The post More Dogs on Main: Some days are like that appeared first on Park Record. ...read more read less