Truisms of the game
Truisms of the game
Do not show up to the Community Center in Ouray this Friday to help the City of Ouray place bubble caps on Douglas-fir trees around Ouray. Although a story ran within these pages last week inviting volunteers to assemble at the Community Center Friday, April 7 at noon, we now hear from the organizer that it's a little early in the season, and the excursion into Ouray's surrounding woods to help blunt the spread of beetle kill will have to wait just a bit.
So for now, according to Bevin Campbell, the date is "TBD," and she'll keep us posted when we can help round up the troops again.
I'm betting that if you're wanting to help, and you want to be notified by Bevin, you can just email her at firstname.lastname@example.org, and she'll put you on her volunteer notification list.
When you come through Ouray County these days, you might notice that things are a bit untidy. We'll be the first to admit things look a bit disheveled. The reflectors and cones around Ridgway's inner streets tell you that there's still work to be done on the Streetscape plan. The Hot Springs Pool in Ouray doesn't look much like a pool at all. Businesses are moving and shuffling around, jockeying for position for the upcoming season. It's not like you need a scorecard to keep up with the changes, but it wouldn't hurt.
With all that, imagine when the plastic tunnel-cover things are gone from the pool and hot, soothing waters fill the new jewel of the Switzerland of America. And envision Ridgway, bustling on a mid-summer Thursday with a concert in the park, and a sparkling new street design as an accent to the event.
Get your sleep now, people of the San Juan region, because this county's about to explode.
Opening Day for baseball was Sunday, with three games on the slate before the remaining clubs opened Monday.
Opening Day — the official start of Spring for any baseball fan — historically was always christened with the Cincinnati Reds playing in the first game of the day at their own ballpark. The "Red Stockings," Major League Baseball's first officially recognized franchise, held Opening Day distinction from 1876-1989.
In 1990, the tradition was broken when the Reds were scheduled to open against the Houston Astros, indoors, on fake grass, under artificial light.
Ah, for the days when baseball was traditional and real. For instance, in June 1881 the Solid Muldoon Weekly reported on the opening of the season around the Western Slope. The fundamental truisms of the game were explained then and haven't changed much at all:
"The base ball season has began in earnest, and the papers of various cities are filled with glowing accounts of how nine brutal ruffians from some other place, assisted by a depraved and perjured umpire, succeeded in robbing the home club of the game. When the home club wins the umpire is a gentleman and the opposing nine is a combination of gifted young men who were temporarily unfortunate."
Ross, texting his mother from the hospital room where Kelly was being induced, our first grandchild imminent and fast-approaching!
Ross: Not sure if you'll be here tomorrow when we're still at the hospital, but our room number is 103.
Beecher: Why wouldn't you still be there?
Ross: I have no idea. I have no idea how any of this works!!
Beecher: Babies don't just pop out and you go home.
Ross: Well, that's what all of the movies have taught me.
Oh, these teasing, testing days. My flyfishing gear hanging in the basement, taunting and tempting. The weather warms, and I get the itch. But warm weather means snow melt and snow melt means cloudy, murky water. The trout can't get fooled by what they can't see.
A few days later I drive over Dallas Creek and it's crystal clear, because the weather is cool and chilly, and the snowpack above the valley floor is holding shape for another day.
Too cold, though, to wet a line.
More snows, more melting, and more dust collecting on my gear.
Surely, Spring will pass, the rivers will clear, the trout will rise and the hustle and harried nature of summer in a tourist location will do all it can to keep me off the river.
Oh, Fall, with your yellow and crimson colors and diminishing crowds. How long until you're here?
Alan Todd is co-publisher of the Ouray County Plaindealer. Reach him at email@example.com or 970-325-2838.