About a week or two before Christmas, I finally came up with the perfect reply to my wife’s pleas to please tell her what I wanted for Christmas.
“Just once – I want to be walloped by winter. I want a big-ass snowstorm. The kind that justifies all those idiots who troop out to Home Depot for a new shovel the moment they even sniff the white stuff in the air.”
(As an aside – you don’t need to buy a new shovel every snowstorm, people. They’re not disposable. In fact, they’re quite handy to keep around. And then you don’t have to worry about me mocking your mug when I catch the inevitable live shot on the 5 o’clock news as you are trooping back to Home Depot for your fifth shovel of the season.)
Well, I didn’t get a White Christmas but ever since we closed the page on December 2010, my little hamlet in Massachusetts has been bombarded weekly with blizzards by the baker’s dozen – or so it would seem. And despite the fact that I’ve had to labor my lumbar more times than that poor aching back would like, I love every last flake of the fluff.
It’s why we live in New England – one of the few places on the planet that can lay claim to four disparate but equally beautiful seasons.
Besides, where else could I climb atop my farmer’s porch and leave my own special imprint via rooftop snow angels.
That was my fun this past Sunday – when after catching the local forecast that called for an additional 10 – 20 inches of snow by midweek (as I write this – we’re in the midst of the storm and about halfway to that mark), anyway – I decided that I should get rid of a foot or so of whatever was up there to avoid any ill-timed roof collapses. Never a good time for that really, no matter whether you’re “in good hands” or not. Who wants to haggle with insurance adjusters in this weather?!?!?
The only way to the roof was out my bedroom window. And once out there, I spent about two hours removing a 1-foot layer of packed powder that led to a 3-inch sheet of ice covering an additional 3-inch creamy filling. It was backbreaking, bone chilling work but whatever doesn’t kill me, makes for a helluva’ nice Facebook profile pic. In fact, almost everything I do these days is driven by the photo op potential. Got to look good for your public, after all.
So, the weekend roof recovery was merely the cap to a month full of fun in the snow. With our house perched on a gentle slope, we’ve enjoyed sledding pretty much every weekend – and then there was the Saturday that Colin and I grabbed a few extra hours outside in a bid to transform the backyard into our own private Hoth. We cobbled together a few barricades and one palatial glacial fort – just in the off chance that an errant AT-AT may come strolling through. The pic below is deceiving. From that angle it looks tiny – but that thing was suitably roomy.
So, January is in the books and at the end of it all – a little over a month since I first inserted foot-into-mouth and dared Jack Frost to bitch slap me with a blizzard – we’ve endured roughly 5 storms and have a 3′ solid base of snow insulating those lawns that we’re bound to recover some time this August. Right now, we’re in the midst of another storm – with the large portion due to hit us on Groundhog Day tomorrow. I’ll spare y’all the suspense of whether Puxatawnie Phil sees his shadow or not. By the time that rodent crawls through 15 miles of frozen hell and pokes his little snout out – IT WILL BE SPRING!!!
This weekend, we’re expecting another storm… and who know what next week brings. I’m personally praying for a ‘Snow Tornado‘ or ‘Ice Firestorm‘ – anything to land us with the next SyFy Disaster Movie of the Week.
Just so long as it stars Susannah Hoffs and… Screech!!!