The 1947 Willys Jeep sits mothballed in our driveway, shrouded like a mourning monk in a Walmart econo grey car cover. Like being whipped in the face by a three-inch spruce limb, to deny the call of the “Rumble Bee” does sting. But after a long season of decadent frolic in snow castles from Canada to Austria, catching up on house repairs and building a storage shed at the WildSnow field office is our penance. We tick off items on the to-do list knowing that absolution will come when we are again free to play in frosted mountains. The chores consume day after summer day, until a special visitor arrives and we have our excuse to enter the peaceful realm of our beautiful backcountry.