But before we could create our mosquito-bitten paradise by the lake, we had a few stops to make. As lifelong Homeroids, we are physically incapable of traveling north of Ninilchik without spending at least an hour in the Soldotna Fred Meyer. Even if it's only for a bathroom break, the Freddy's trip must include time spent wandering through the aisles of that consumer heaven, marveling at the objects people find it necessary to buy.

I alternate between loading my cart with items that are never quite what I want but are the closest I can get without driving to Anchorage, and trying on a couple of ill-fitting shirts before scornfully deciding that I don't need them, that everyone in the place is a brainwashed victim of advertising and that from now on I shall be sewing my own clothes, made only of the purest organic materials.

Such is the internal conflict of a Homer-grown girl set loose in the big city of Soldotna.

Anyway, back to the hobby shop and the prophecy of doom. After selling us the 10-sided dice, Tinkerbell told us she could order other geeky gear for us, should we want to participate in the weekend gaming marathons she hosted at the shop.

"But if you want to make orders for Christmas, you'll have to make them soon," she said. "The snows are coming."

The snows are coming?

I've always considered myself a pessimist. I know that change is inevitable and that, where Alaska weather is concerned, it is almost always for the worse.

But, standing beneath a fleet of model airplanes on that day in early July, I reached the limit to my cynicism. Besides the fact that it was disconcerting to hear such vile predictions from a woman claiming to identify with a fairy whose very life depends on the faith and optimism of children around the world, I was unwilling to let my 12-hour vacation be tainted by even the thought of (shudder) snow.

Refusing all of Tink's offers to order us boxed sets of tiny, warlike, model trolls, my boyfriend and I hurried out of the dingy shop and into the not-quite-sunny afternoon. She was right, really: we had gotten one or two days of sun, but things were looking bleak. Temperatures had hardly cracked 50 degrees all summer and now it was starting to rain, which, minus a few of those precious degrees, is practically the same thing as snow.

At Johnson Lake it was warm with a pleasant breeze. Fishermen stood waist-deep in the water and a moose relaxed in the marsh. My boyfriend and I happily wandered along the lakeside trails, stepping over roots and brushing past wild roses and heavy bumblebees. We watched the moose meander to the edge of the lake to drink, sinking knee-deep into the marsh before it bothered to extract itself.

After soaking our shoes hunting for frogs along the shore, we saw a seagull dive into the water and lift one of the amphibians in its beak before swallowing it in two gulps. We saw absolutely no evidence of an early winter.

I won't be going back to Soldotna anytime soon. I congratulate myself on not having bought any of the cheap clothes I tried on during that last visit. And I certainly won't be paying a visit to the hobby shop in the near future I don't want to be subjected to any more dire pronouncements.

Still, the damage is done. Hovering over the field as I play softball, blasting from the speakers at Concert on the Lawn, clinging to the back of my mind as I write this Tinkerbell's forecast is haunting my summer. The snows are coming.

Carolyn Norton can be reached at carolyn.norton@homernews.com.