Four in the morning, Highway 133, and the storm that spent the night coming over McClure Pass is still laying it down in the headlights. Master Maintenance is out in it — driveways opened end to end, lots pushed to the corners, walks scraped and treated so the first person out the door at six meets bare ground instead of a skating rink. When the melt finally wins in April the same trucks trade blades for mowers, and Carbondale's yards get their cuts, their trimmed edges, their spring and autumn haul-outs. There is real pride in both ends of that: the clean plow line along a curb, the straight stripe across a summer lawn. One town, twelve months, nothing skipped.