Blizzard of 2013

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. 

Hunkered, and grateful

Hurricane Sandy passed us by, and we suffered very little for it. My Bride and I are in different places of the 'preparation' scale. She is ready to get us through a zombie-virus outbreak and the collapse of civilization. I assume that FEMA will of course make getting a ration-pack of Diet Coke to my door a priority if it becomes a smidge too gusty for me to venture out of doors. 

At one point in the day before Sandy struck, my Bride came into my office. I was busy contorting my giant meat-fingers into twisted ukelele friendly chord shapes. She rummaged through my desk and found our passports, adding them to a plastic, sealable box with a pile of other things. 

"What's that for?"

"These are our documents."

"I see that. But why are they in that tub?"

"In case we need to leave in a hurry because of the storm."

"So we need our passports? In case the hurricane makes us flee the country?"

I should really know not to ask such questions by now. She gave my tiny instrument and me a scathing look and told me to get off my ass and go batten down the chicken coop and haul in another quarter-cord of wood before the storm got here. She went and filled up every container 

The truth is, we were fortunate. We all stayed home the day the hurricane arrived, and puttered through the house together, keeping busy with various quiet activities. We lost power for a few hours at the tail end of the storm, and only then so the power crews could safely work on restoring power to other parts of the town. Knowing we're all safe, and with little damage to speak of, I can admit that I kind of enjoy the enforced calm and togetherness of the family huddle during the dark. We sit around the fire and read our books. We draw with the kids and laugh off the occasional burn or stumble as we attempt to cook a meal in the flickering light of a lantern. We're grateful for the fireplace to cozy up to and the gas stove that always runs, with or without electricity. I sat in the firelight and worked on the kids' Halloween costumes. We make a new memory, and remind ourselves that as connected as we've become to the great big world around us, the really important things? They're right there within reach. 

My sympathies and thoughts are out there with those still waiting for power, or hurt from the storm.