From my front step I watch the last rays of the day briefly guild the Grizzly Hills east, four miles up the Hayden Valley.

A hay barn used by the horse corrals in the summer season is visible over the hill to the southwest of my house. In the distance is a white snow covered ridge burned in the great fires of the summer of 1988. The fire moved from the right to the left until it jumped the Yellowstone River two miles to the south. From my front step I could hear the ridge roar as it burned.

A dinosaur model I bought in the British Museum years ago graces the sunset side of my front porch. I like it as a reminder that I am something of an anachronism myself, here in 21st century Yellowstone. When I came here in 1973 there were five winterkeepers in the park. The two at Old Faithful went extinct a few years after I arrived due to the development of winter tourism there. Only two others are left now, old friends up at Lake Yellowstone 18 miles south of me. Plus, there is one pretender.