Here in the north-western corner of Pennsylvania, heavy snowfall is something we expect. This year we saw nary a flake until November, which is odd. We’re used to getting hit with at least one short-lived storm by mid-October. Now here we are on December 7, 2010, enduring snowfall that defies belief.
To quote one of the local newspapers, “This morning Corry’s measured snowfall was 42″… however, that was this morning!” A friend once bemoaned that the area’s school districts don’t shut down unless there are at least three feet of snow on the ground. Well, the schools have been closed for two days now. (My kids grumbled that they still had to do schoolwork until I reminded them that we will be done with school in May and everyone else will be making up these snow days in June.) Worse yet, the snow isn’t supposed to actually stop until tomorrow morning! Then the forecast calls for “scattered flurries” throughout Wednesday and Thursday–just a brief peek at a snowless sky–before the next storm arrives.
I don’t mind the snow when I don’t have to deal with it. I can provide many adjectives to describe it when I’m peering through my living room window: fluffy, picturesque, cheery, festive… Mind you, that’s when I am inside looking out. When I am outside snowblowing or driving, other adjectives come to mind: freezing, blinding, dangerous, slick.
Yesterday morning as I backed the snowblower into the garage after making the driveway passable, I thought I heard laughter. I looked out the window, thinking my kids had come outside to play. Nope. No one to be seen. I stepped outside. Horizontal snow smacked my left eye and nose (only my eyes and nose were uncovered). I heard weird laughter again. I trudged out to the mailbox, shovel in hand, then cleared a path for the mailman. At this point I had been outside for almost an hour and the tip of my nose was losing feeling. As I ascended the steps of our back porch, the wind picked up and I heard the laughter once again.
Three hours later I looked outside and could no longer see where I had used the snowblower! I decided then and there that the laughter I heard was nature itself, cracking up at my attempts to thwart its dastardly plan!
My husband has used the snowblower twice more, and as I walked to my mailbox at noon today, I kicked through another four inches here, eight inches there. Nature – 3; Snowblower – 0.
My girls have already carved a snow cave into which three people can fit comfortably. They’re laughing back at nature, thoroughly enjoying themselves.