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Everyone assures me that summer has not been canceled in Colorado this year. Given that snow threatens as I write this and that the furnace is noisily laboring against the outdoor chill, it's hard to believe.
Keeping this house habitable is a challenge at this time of year, especially this perverse year with a clement February and a brutal May, on account of our antique double-hung windows -- the kind that are supposed to slide up and down.
That's the theory. The fact is that the windows do not
slide.
An open window results from protracted labor
with hammers, chisels, knives, box bars, crow bars, section
bars, hydraulic jacks, widow-maker jacks, cheater pipes,
ten-foot two-by-sixes and many other forms of leverage.
Recall that Archimedes, upon discovering the principle
of the lever, said Give me a place to stand and I can
move the earth.
So what? The earth is as a feather compared to a
century-old assembly of humidity-swollen sash frames,
rust-frozen sash-weight pulleys and paint-thickened stile
grooves. And why can't Archimedes provide a place to
stand
when I'm on the second floor? Did he ever have to
erect scaffolding, just to get a bedroom window to open so
that summer doesn't bring suffocation?
One does not casually open and close windows in this house. I envy people who can glance outside, observe that it looks like rain, easily slide the window closed, and, after the shower, raise it back open with a finger tip.
My house windows do not slide down when I tug on them, but one will slide down, with such force as to break panes and to cement itself into closed position, when I'm not looking; thus every window that gets open is equipped with a wooden prop to make sure it stays open. If there's anything worse than opening a window, it's opening it twice in the same year -- it's always harder the second time, even after lubricating the grooves with paraffin.
Thus I consult the Farmer's Almanac, the National Weather Service and the local I-Ching oracles and tea-leaf readers before setting Window Opening Day, generally in mid-May. Once the windows are open, they stay open until Window Closing Day in September.
The weather never fully cooperates. Hail and sleet will
arrive shortly after Window Opening Day, with everybody in
the house shivering and saying things like Ed, why don't
you close the windows?
and then running to hide before
I can explode an answer. Tropical heat waves will follow
Window Closing Day, and we swelter in October.
But it would be some consolation if we knew that
everybody else was in the same condition, and the next time
I see the mayor, I'll ask her to declare an official
Window Opening Day
and Window Closing
Day.
I used to observe Window Opening Day
on Salida
Clean-up Day.
On that grand spring-cleaning occasion,
the county generously waived the tip fees at the landfill,
and a year's accumulation of dead furniture and yard waste
vanished from the yard.
But for the past couple years, the county says it can't afford to waive the tip fees for local residents.
Well, budgets are tight these days. But when important
people are involved, the county can find the money. This
valley just celebrated River Clean-up Day
on May 20.
Volunteers, many from local rafting companies, worked up
and down the Arkansas, collecting trash from the banks.
And guess what? The county somehow found the means to waive the tip fees for the river clean-up.
Thus it is a governmental priority here to keep the river corridor clean, so that several hundred thousand tourists will better enjoy their trips down Zoom Flume. But it is not a governmental priority to have clean yards and alleys in town; the health and safety of those who live here isn't nearly as important as the scenic sensibilities of tourists.
So, if you're visiting Chaffee County, you're a first-class citizen. Just don't move here, though, and expect your own local government to care about you.
This situation isn't unique to Chaffee County. When I talk to friends elsewhere in the mountains, the same patterns appear: Cater to the tourists, and to hell with the locals, whether it's trash or law enforcement or parking.
There are sound economic reasons for this perverse politics where local governments serve everyone except their constituents. Municipal and county governments draw an ever-increasing portion of their revenue from sales taxes, and the way to increase retail sales is to bring in more tourists. The local government will be driven, not by the local voters, but by its revenue stream.
But there could be a bright spot in this. If we could just publicize this development -- that the kinder a place is to visitors, the meaner it will be to residents -- then maybe the current real-estate boom would subside, thereby preserving open space, wildlife, views and all those other things people say they like about Colorado.
And if that doesn't work to slow things down, we could always require that all houses, even the new ones, be equipped with well-aged double-hung windows. You've really got to want to live here if you'll put up with those.
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