I went up to Estes Park today with the kids. Rode the tram, fed some local chipmunks (“townies,” not in the park), and had a great lunch at a new little Italian restaurant. Helped the grandson spot out-of-state license plates — 15 or so.
On the way home we began noticing haze, or smoke, that hadn’t been there earlier. It was hanging in the canyons like Los Angeles smog. We drove in it and talked about it all the way home, trying to figure out which fire it was from — High Park? Waldo Canyon? The western slope?
As it turned out, it was from Wyoming. As if we didn’t have enough smoke of our own. And more promised tomorrow. Ugh.