November means Chinook winds, and Chinook winds lead to dramatic sunrises. It also means it is warm enough that I am out on the deck at dawn in my jammies snapping pictures. My first encounter with the Chinook was my first night in our house, about this time of year eighteen years ago. I was in a sleeping bag on the floor of the master bedroom surrounded by our dogs in their crates. (Jack was still working in Texas.) I lay there feeling the house shake in the winds and kept reminding myself that the house had lasted seven years and that it was unlikely it would blow away my first night. I was partially wrong: we found most of the shingles from the garage to the east of the house. Keeping the shingles on the house has been an ongoing battle ever since, though the new roof put on last spring seems to be holding, so far. Colorado is tough on houses.
