Back in the day, nearly every vacation my husband and I took seemed to include meeting with a realtor. We looked at land in a lot of places, some of which were quite far-flung. Truthfully, we weren't always equally invested in these exercises. Just because I was enthusiastic about visiting some of these areas didn't necessarily mean I wanted to live there.

While (inevitably) checking out land on our first joint trip to Wyoming, the listing agent commented, "We can get snow here in all 12 months!" With a wry smile, my husband replied, "I don't think my wife considers that a selling point."

Right.

Yet fast forward quite a few years and here I am living in the wild, wild west anyway. We ended up on the other side of the Tetons, but that Wyoming acreage we surveyed once upon a time isn't too far away.

Guess what? That realtor was not lying. It can snow here in all 12 months, and not just in the mountains. Sometimes summer snowfall makes it down into the valleys.

For example, in Driggs, Idaho (elevation 6,109 feet) it has - more than once - snowed on or around Independence Day. I'm not just talking a dusting, either; in 1992 the annual Teton Valley Balloon Rally had to contend with 13 inches of snowfall.

My husband was correct; I didn't find anything enticing about that realtor's mention of potential for snow in all 12 months. A lot of water has gone under the bridge since then, though. Having now lived on the edge of the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem for quite a few years, I've not only acclimated, but completely changed my tune.

I expect very cold overnights in early June (more accurately, I hope for them). I know snow can fall whenever it feels like it. Summers are short. My winter gear almost always travels with me into the parks, regardless of what the calendar says. And I don't mind any of it.

Early last week, snow had been forecast for the Tetons. It was certainly cold enough, and with unsettled conditions all day ahead of low pressure moving into the area, I believed we'd see it.

I'd already been in the park for a few days to photograph wildflowers and green season - but not snow. I'll never pass up a storm, though.

Late one morning, interesting bands of clouds extended from one end of the valley all the way to the other. They had staying power. Having kept my eye on the sky for a while, I finally decided this was too good to pass up.

Though it looks ominous, not long after I made this photo the sun began to break through. By early afternoon, there was a lot of flat, white expanse overhead. This persisted for a few hours, until the snow - as promised - began to move in.

Accompanied by high winds, the storm at first mostly clung to the Tetons: though turbulent and tempestuous, it did not completely obscure the mountains. The sight was absolutely spectacular. Assuming the conditions would be rapidly changeable, and not knowing how long the mountains would remain visible, I thought about where I could get to quickly in order to try to capture these conditions with the camera.

I was in the north end of the park so headed for the vicinity of Oxbow Bend. There are a lot of aspens there; if I got lucky maybe I could combine the springtime greens I'm so drawn to along with the angry sky. I shot for a while, experimenting with different compositions as the clouds shifted, and then changed things up by going with black and white.

Generally speaking, I won't photograph the mountains unless the tips of the peaks are visible. This time I broke that rule: the clouds churning around Mount Moran and partially enveloping it were part of the story.

Back at my campsite an hour after I made these photographs, snow began to fall.

The next morning, the mountains were covered with a fresh blanket of white. Surprisingly, the Tetons remained mostly visible; it's not unusual for the ceiling to drop very low when storms roll through. Though it did snow off-and-on at lower elevations overnight, the valley floor mostly received sleet. Ice crystals clung to the wildflowers at daybreak.

Yes, Virginia, there really can be snow in the Tetons in every month of the year.

In Local News

The Teton Pass is just about ready to reopen with a new temporary detour around the catastrophic landslide which occurred on June 8th. They began laying asphalt on Tuesday; yesterday the pavement was striped. They're working now on completing the installation of new guardrails as well as concrete barriers.

The new road's factor of safety must be calculated by WYDOT before it can be opened to traffic.

WYDOT will be "installing inclinometers, which detect slope instability, and piezometers, which measure groundwater, to monitor conditions. Data from those devices will be used in the landslide model WYDOT has developed and the ongoing slope stability analysis." (Excerpted from the Wyoming News Exchange.)

As a backup, these devices will be manually monitored each day and WYDOT says they'll have crews on the pass 24/7. Engineers had strongly advised having a physical presence up there at all times to keep an eye on the roadway, so it's good to know they'll be following that recommendation.

The detour will have a weight limit of 60,000 pounds, which is consistent with the summer limit on the rest of the highway, meaning there will be nothing out of the ordinary as far as restrictions. This is not what I expected. The detour has a significant increase in grade and a sharp curve; it's hard to envision 18-wheelers and other long vehicles navigating that.

I hope everything goes smoothly, but have no plans to be on the road as soon as it re-opens. Color me cautious. I'll wait a bit and see how it goes.

There's been no word on what they have in mind regarding long-term reconstruction.

Meanwhile, both parks are hopping. Yellowstone recorded 522,450 visits in May, a 15% increase over May 2023. I haven't seen numbers for Grand Teton National Park, but it's been busy there, too.