Snow: The aftermath

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In the end, we had just a skoche more than 2 feet of snow fall over the weekend. The drifts (like those on the porch and everywhere else around our that snow could pile up) were significantly higher, and required a good bit of shoveling. 

I set my Bride to work. 

 

 

She likes to work out. This way we save on 'personal trainer' bills.

Once we had managed to carve a way out of our house, it was time to enjoy the snow a bit. But first, these guys had to recover. 

They whine a bit, but they're pretty good workers if you keep them supervised. 

 

 

It was the wrong kind of snow for building snow men. It wasn't wet and fluffy enough to stick together in big lumps. W e built snow forts. The snow was deep enough that all you really had to do was dig out a pit, and pile the snow around the edges. 

Voila: instant fort. 

 

 

It always ends up being boys vs. the girls in our house.  So the Boy and I got to work on ours. (notice who is holding the shovel, though)

 

 

And then the snowball fights ensued.

 

 

It was a long hard, battle.

But the boys won.

(Also known as: he who maintains the 'blog, always wins in the documentation). 

We played until we were exhausted and cold. And then went inside to warm up by the fire. These days are why we love living through a New England winter. 

 

 

Note: that's my Bride pushing the children into the snow. I may or may not have encouraged this behavior and laughed as it happened. That certainly isn't captured in this shocking photographic evidence of unusually cruel parenting. 

 

It's good to be the website admin. 

 

Blizzard of 2013

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We had a little bit of snowfall here last night. When I woke up this morning, it was still coming down. 

 

 

Fortunately, the snow is a light, dry, icy blow. So the wind is whipping it off the roof about as fast as it falls. This is good for the chickens - the wet, heavy flakes when they fall cling to everything and tug the netting over their run down, trapping them. It's also a lot easier to shovel this stuff so you can get out of the door after it accumulates. 

 


That's about two feet that's fallen (with a perfect reverse impression of our front door). In the drifts, it's 3 feet or more. The dog took one look at it this morning and decided she could hold her business until I shoveled a path for her.  

She's a pure bred St. Bernard. Mixed with a hefty dose of chicken.

 

 

My truck lives outside since I bought the new Mini Cooper. It is weathering the storm with a quiet, affronted dignity. But it's a farmer's truck. It is stoic. 

 

 

The wind is still whipping the snow into icy twisters. But the house is nearing 300 years old. It has seen worse. And is remarkably cozy. 

Which is good. Because we're not going anywhere for a while. 

I've got wood enough to last, and no reason to venture out.