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Show To Every Season Condos, and the Brown's Hillside Country Club were not far around the corner. Why then are we still here? NC Six years ago we laughed and said "When they start selling lots on Brown 's Pass, it will be time for us to leave. " That was back when the Holiday Inn was just a sketch on an architect's pad, before Alpha Beta was the only store in town and before everyone was driving up to the Uintas to get wood for their woodstoves. It wasn 't long before we started losing track of the developments in Park City and rumors of a giant new resort were substantiated by No Trespassing signs and D9 cats. Things in the valley were changing too, more subtly, but with the same irrevocable irre-vocable stamp of progress. Tract houses were going up, old barns were coming down. Traffic was getting heavier and moving faster, so ranchers ranc-hers were starting to truck their stock around instead of herding them down the. highway. But Brown's Pass stayed the same year after year. In the fall, we watched patches of scrub oak and aspens turn red and gold. In the distance, we marked the day the snows returned to the peaks of the Wasatch. When that happened, hap-pened, we would throw a shovel, a candy bar and an Sale. ' ' Suddenly, we noticed a new network of little din roads cut into the hills, presumably so prospective buyers could be ushered around their future estates. We were depressed. One day, the little man was sitting outside his trailer looking over some papers and we stopped. To our dismay, he said sales were great. 'But what about water?' we asked. 'That's their problem, ' he answered with alarming candor. . Well, even though the lots were sold, we didn't leave and not much transpired that summer or the year following. follow-ing. The only residences we noticed were the transient sheep camps. Except for a few speculative real estate signs, Browns remained unchanged. In time, we forgot about the great sale of Brown's Pass. While everything else changed, we would turn onto Browns and heave a sigh of relief. But one day this summer, in midsigh, we noticed a trailer, tucked back into a small side canyon. A TV antennae and a fence suggested a permanence that made our hairs bristlfe and we realized that Brown s Estates, Brown's Summit extra wodl coat into the back of the car, where they would stay all winter, across the flats, making drifts across the two-lane road, we screwed up our courage,: hit the accelerator and plowed through. Some days when the weather was particularly bad and all of us who lived in the valley and D-h inc-t UnA rt hp worked in Park just had to be at work, our phone would ring and we'd make a few calls too until we found a i vehicle that could and a I driver who was willing, i. Those rides were like a great I adventure with everyone V-bundled V-bundled up sticking their heads out of the window and offering the driver too much advice. In the spring, streams ran down the gulch where Browns gets windy and we memorized the coordinates of the worst potholes. At times, the Weber came up so high, there would be talk about the bridge going out. If the moon was new, we'd slow down enough to make sure it was still there before proceeding. On the nights it was full though, we could see for miles. It was great fun then to turn off the headlights head-lights and drive by the light of the moon. Then one summer, a trailer parked right alongside the road about halfway across the pass. A little stout figure hung out streamers and a giant banner which said simply "Land For |