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I live in Montana’s Bitterroot Mountains, so please temper what follows with this understanding: It was my choice. With that out of the way, let me just say our 2016–2017 winter felt less like a season than a geological event. It has been one of Mother Nature’s mothers. For the longest time, we had 52 inches of snow on the ground, which meant I could take but one step outdoors before performing a Barney Rubble one-and-a-half gainer. Of course, there wasn’t much chance of that, because all my home’s entrances/exits were blocked, except for the garage, and it was dodgy, too. As soon as I’d reverse the old Toyota Tundra into the snow, the drifts would jack up the rear end so far that I feared the truck’s roof would crush my electric garage door’s opening arm. In the Bitterroots, impassable doesn’t mean impossible, but it does suggest you consult your local TV listings. Every few minutes. READ MORE ››
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