It is the middle of October. I walk barefoot across the grass. My mother-in-law has promised a wicked El Niño winter storm so horrible- so horrible indeed- that we will certainly freeze to death in our camper. The snow will come in unending waves off the mountain, piling high against our door. It would seem she is trying to frighten me into action. When in fact she is scared. She is scared we won’t find a home for the winter. She is scared of how we live- we live the way we want to. We live with faith that what we need will be provided. To a great extent this is true, but in her mind our success has been the exception to the ultimate disaster that is always ready to fall down upon our heads. The aspen are yellow and orange, creeping every day down the mountain, tip toeing between the dark green juniper and pinion.