I began to wonder if Farnsworth wasn't right about not finishing when one evening we had our first snowfall, everyone went outside to feel the
flakes and watch them shine in the light from the trailer windows. But it had stopped by morning and left only a few inches on the ground, and most of that had melted before noon, we moved on as if it hadn't happened. My early cuts brought white fluff off the branches and down my neck, but that didn't last long. Then a couple of days later the snow began falling in the afternoon. The instrument men could not see their targets through the white falling blanket and we gave up and went to camp early, wondering if we should pull the trailers to winter storage before they got stuck, but Joe had the forecast from his radio, he said not to worry, it was just an early storm.

Over the next few days I punched the clearing through to the end and went back to catch up on the cross sections. In the afternoon when the first blizzard began, the stake line had been completed and both crews were rushing through the last few cross sections, squinting through the gathering whiteness to get their readings, guessing at the tenth to finish the notes. We packed it up and hiked the five miles to the carryall with snow collecting on our hard hats and shoulders, made fast tracks to camp where How already had everything packed and ready to go. We hooked up the trailers to the pickup and carryall and churned through the slushy mess to the highway and down to the storage area behind the gas station. I collected all the field books and plans, packed them into my pickup, and drove Joe into town to drop him at his place. By the time I returned, it was snowing so hard we decided we'd never make it over the pass that night.We had dinner in the little cafe and slept in our trailers for the last time.

That night I suddenly realized I was going back to my old life, to those charades and conflicts and unknowns I had been struggling with practically since birth. I had phoned home the week before and told my mother to expect me back soon. She informed me of another family meeting at my grandfather's farm on the next Sunday, which would be tomorrow. After weeks of solitude and hard work I would suddenly be faced with the lot, the charades of another farewell for an aging spinster, heading for retirement somewhere in the South Seas, this time it would be Miss Libby, and with all the silly games I had to invent to avoid eating the monshood spiked rhubarb. Mother knew I had no rhubarb with me, she would probably want to make up for lost time, want to know what I had been eating, watching for signs of liver.

What should my next move entail? I had gained a few hundred dollars in finances during the past few weeks, hardly enough to cover tuition costs
at MIT. December was around the corner and Brannon's invitation to stay with them in San Diego over the holidays seemed the only option open. I could look for work in California, something might turn up there. Crows making a ruckus on the roof of the trailer woke me from a nightmare, an image calling to me, begging me to come to its aid, to free it from the bindings it struggles in, the face turned away but I see clearly the back of the head, the sparse hair and the flat dome above sagging ears, and slowly the image rotates until I can recognize the profile, it is Olaf, he is staking a claim on my soul, calling me up to duty, commanding me to serve in his place, he is so convincing that I must struggle against him, hide from him, fight to escape, I feel I am suffocating, gasping for air and suddenly I was awake entangled in the sleeping bag and shook my way out to sit up and stare about me for reassurance. What is the meaning of this? Of Olaf who was assigned since my childhood by the family to be my mentor is seeking me out in a dream, seeking me out to fill a position that I have spent my life plotting to escape from.

With a groan of rejection I wrenched myself around to stare out the window, it was morning already. I put the thing from my mind to dress and walk over to the cafe for breakfast. There I leaned the pass was snowbound and closed to traffic. The snowplows were at work but clearing the highway would take several hours. I met this news with mixed emotions. I was already resigned and prepared to deal with the family, yet this might be a convenient excuse for abandoning the ordeal. We sat around waiting for news, playing cards and listening to the radio for weather reports. It was after lunch before we were able to lock up the trailers and start back over the pass, with snow chains on our tires, as the road was still covered with an icy layer of packed snow. At the summit the parking area had been filled by skiers, I could see them through a light snowfall on their crisscrossing paths descending the hill above the lodge, watched with envy for a few minutes from the edge of the highway, but I had no equipment with me, no way to join them. I pulled into traffic and headed down the mountain. Glancing at my watch I saw there was still time to meet the family. But an hour and a half later I was caught up in slow moving traffic; Sunday afternoon and droves of families on outings to the countryside as the skies cleared following the storm. The sun was hanging over the mountains as I approached the farm, and my parents' car nowhere in sight. Too late for the party I turned around and