Totem poles almost never smile even when warmed and dried by summer sun.  Today the carved face that watches my morning descent off of Chicken Ridge has nothing to smile about for he bears a heavy burden of fresh snow with more on the way.   Still he offers me reassurance, not judgment.  Does he know that the red cedar giant stood worse winter storms a hundred times before being quartersawed for the ones who created him?  Pretty good carvers, those guys, to plant such a question in my mind.