Dear Mother Nature, I’ve been thinking about what I want to say for a while now, mostly while riding up the chairlift, gazing out at mountains that, bless their hearts, were doing the best they could with what you gave them. So here goes: I love you. Deeply, unconditionally, and frankly, again st my better judgment. This season, you kept us snow-lovers a little humble. The snowpack was more of a slow build than a grand entrance. A quieter year, let’s say, that asked us to be patient and grateful for what we had. I won’t pretend there weren’t mornings when I watched the forecast refresh like a man with a problem. But the mountains were still there, still beautiful and honestly? Still worth every early chair. And yet. Here I am. Writing you a love letter. Because that’s what a real commitment looks like, doesn’t it? It’s not all bluebird days and chest-deep powder. Sometimes it’s watching the 10-day forecast the way a gambler watches a roulette wheel — with desperate, irrational hope. Sometimes it’s appreciating perfect corduroy on a crisp, bluebird morning and deciding that’s enough. I’ve done both this year. Often before breakfast. Our relationship, you and I, is a marriage. I made that commitment well before I moved to Park City in 1998, the first time you buried me in Wasatch powder and I knew that Utah would be my forever home. I renewed it every season since. And like any long marriage, there are rough patches — years where you make me work a little harder for the magic. This was one of them. I’m not going to pretend it wasn’t. My powder skis and I had some conversations. But “till death do us part” means something. It means I’ll be back in October, obsessively checking the snow report like a man possessed. It means I’ll tune my powder skis with the quiet optimism of someone who has clearly learned nothing. It means that when you really show up, and I know you will, I’ll be so embarrassingly grateful that I’ll probably cry tears of joy into my snow-choked goggles on that first November powder day. So here’s what I’m asking: Let’s make next year a big one. I’m not trying to be demanding, but I think after everything I’ve given you — the unwavering commitment, the early mornings, the occasional dignity — a generous winter feels like a reasonable ask. A December to remember. Maybe a January too, while we’re at it. I’m not greedy. Just a few hundred inches of The Greatest Snow on Earth, piled high in all the right places. I’ll be here. I’ll always be here. Skis tuned, hope intact, completely unable to quit you. Yours, unconditionally and to an embarrassing degree, Nate Nathan Rafferty of Park City is the Ski Utah president and CEO. The post A love letter to Mother Nature, even now appeared first on Park Record. ...read more read less