Summer, Ants, and Hikers

The first serious stretch of warm weather arrived in the past few days, and as we gazed out office windows or timidly stepped onto sidewalks and porches, we began that proud Utah tradition: wondering aloud how we’ll survive the coming months. Utah heat is one of two climate quirks that true Utahns prefer not to acknowledge. Instead, we revel in the simpler joy of feigned outrage, which conveniently eases us into a beloved local pastime —harmlessly grousing about the weather.

The other climate quirk, of course, is our bitterly cold, reliably snowy winter. So snowy, in fact, that we emblazoned it on our license plates with a poetic flourish: The Greatest Snow on Earth. Despite this branding, we somehow remain surprised each time that snow actually arrives — just as we seemed baffled this week when the temperature dared to rise.

Ants, Man
Another surprise arrival this week was the near-constant procession of ants lining sidewalks across the city. Wherever we walked, we found them: tiny black processions, like miniature mourners dressed in funereal black, making their solemn march through the parched dirt.

This led to an unexpectedly poignant ‘circle of life’ moment. Early one morning, we watched a child drop an ice cream cone on the sidewalk. When we passed by later that afternoon, the remains were being enthusiastically attended to by the two neighborhood ravens who haunt the dumpsters and parking lot near Nielsen’s Ice Cream—cawing and pecking at the congealing dairy with grim focus. The following morning brought the sparrows. By evening, the ants had finally found their way to the scene. Life moves fast: one moment you’re fine cream, the next you’re thrice-discarded ant food.

(Un)Fit For Play
With local schools now on summer break and the weather still warm but not yet oppressive, the city’s younger residents have taken to the streets and front yards in search of fun. On one sleepy side street, we overheard a pair of boys in conversation, clad in lacrosse helmets, shorts, and little else:

Boy 1: We’ve been outside for hours. We should go in and watch videos.
Boy 2: I’d rather keep practicing. Who knows how many more good summers I have left?

Molehills, Mountains
As is tradition any time the temperature in the Salt Lake Valley climbs above “bone-chilling,” roughly a third of the population loads into a Subaru, precariously lifted pickup truck, or bravely optimistic electric vehicle and ascends into the canyons for a refreshing encounter with nature’s grandeur. That proved more complicated this week when a mudslide blocked access to a popular trailhead, forcing weekend warriors and casual hikers alike to park a full quarter-mile down the road from their usual lot. Many persevered nobly. Others were less enthusiastic. We overheard one exasperated hiker grumble to another, “I don’t know how they expect us to walk to our hike.”