I am writing this open letter to you, on behalf of the people of Jasper, to comment nay, complain... rather, protest, the abysmal weather you’ve been throwing down at us in the past few weeks. 

When I moved to the obvious favourite amongst your many natural children – that is Jasper – in July of 2010, I experienced about one day of happy, sunny weather before you bestowed a July snowstorm upon your beloved mountains. 

To put it lightly, I was miffed, and feeling quite unwelcome. The summer continued and there were days of sunshine here and there, but none quite warm enough to make a break for Lake Edith or Annette to dunk my head. On one particularly warm Jasper day, I forced myself into the frigid waters of Lake Edith, timidly passed the ever-so-uncomfortable point of dunking your stomach into the water, and threw myself under the quiet, tame sheen of the water. I re-emerged gasping for air as the temperature quite nearly knocked the air right out of me. I fled the arctic waters and cranked the heat in my black car – basking in the warmth that had settled on the upholstery. 

So far this summer, I have woken to few mornings where the sky shines blue – all of them work days. On these elusive mornings, I bound out of bed, knowing I will view the lack of clouds from my middle-of-the-office desk for the remainder of the day. Even from the window, the blue-bird sky cheers me up.

Each weekend I fall asleep listening to the rain tap on the tin roof outside my window, and while the sound is soothing and sends me back to memories of falling asleep in the same manner as a wee child, I am quietly filled with rage as I become aware that my outdoor plans for tomorrow have been quite unceremoniously spoiled. Luckily the sound rocks me to sleep through my anger. 

When I wake up with my big plans still in my head, hoping beyond hope, that it stopped shortly after I fell asleep, I roll towards the window and peer out – at greyish black clouds peaking through the trees. Sigh. 

It’s July, after all, Mother Nature; and in speaking with many Jasper locals, I have been told, “It’s never like this!” But my year’s worth of experience in your star child’s backyard is proving otherwise. Jasper doesn’t have normal weather, it appears at all?

Granted, a glimpse at Tekarra, Old Man, Pyramid, or Edith Cavell through any sort of daylight is one I hope to never have to give u3p any time soon, but my cancelled hike to the Valley of the Five Lakes, that forever-postponed canoe trip on Maligne Lake and the fading opportunity to eat a picnic lunch at Pyramid Island are all pencilled into the last remaining open weekends in my date book, and they grow fewer and fewer with every rainy day that goes by. 

I could very well get into rainy day outdoors activities, but I have a knack for tripping on things in the finest of weather and hiking conditions, and worry for my personal safety on a rain-slicked path. 

Do heed my advice, Mother Nature, and shower down sunrays, instead of rain. While my garden enjoys collecting your droplets and springing to life, I can also use what we’ve collected in rain barrels to wet the soil.

I promise, should you gift us sunshine and blue skies, I will spend every spare day outside enjoying what you’ve created here in Jasper – except on Sundays, because that’s just a fantastic day for napping.

Sincerely, Annalee B. Grant 

DISCLAIMER: The Last Word is an opinion column, it is meant to provoke thought and debate. As such, any opinions written here are the writer’s own and do not reflect the viewpoint of any other Fitzhugh staff member or the directors of the Jasper Media Group Inc.