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Show !!nri by Nan Chalat The sounds of summer In Park City summer is synonymous with construction. On the first warm day in May at precisely 8 a.m. an orchestra of compressors, circular saws and nail guns strikes the first chord of the season and continues to play relentlessly until the first snows of autumn. Bv now most residents have become season come several familiar sights which have become a part of the landscape. On Park Avenue a black labrador retriever importantly important-ly holds down a truck load of two by fours. As the truck rounds the comer at the bottom of Main Street he barks at a friend who is parked on top of a tool box in another pickup. selectively deaf to the sound effects of this annual building boom which has been going on for at least five years. They have become immune to the thundering crash of a lumber delivery and the shrill beep of a dump truck backing away from yet another new construction site. Like those joggers who blithely dance down the highway wearing astral tune headphones, Parkites have learned to tune it out. They have also become skilled at forging new routes to work, weaving around slow-moving cement mixers and dodging steel girders suspended over the road from giant cranes. These harrowing feats are now considered mundane. In addition to all of their mountain survival skills, locals can consider themselves quite street wise. They've certainly had plenty of practice. Instead of concentrating on the inconveniences inconven-iences they have learned to focus on the bright side, for along with the construction Throughout town a mouey crew oi iaDs anu retrievers wearing red bandannas have become a local signature. The ever-changing skyline is now dotted with barebacked carpenters scaling steel skeletons of future office buildings with impossible grace and daring. While idling behind a flatbed full of trusses, a carload of Parkites watches local crews shouldering massive wood beams and carrying them along narrow aerial walkways. But, of course, there are times when the cacophony is just too much to bear. Then it is best to head for the solitude of the hills. On Guardman's Pass the roar of the city is just a distant hum. The road is already passable for a mile past the Ontario Mine and the snow is disappearing quickly. On the horizon bare patches chase the snowline up the mountain. Along the ridgeline parts of the cornice have tumbled down the slope, giving in to the inevitable approach of summer. |