Friday night I left the screen door open intentionally, in case we needed to get out.
By Saturday morning I was not so sure that was a good idea.
A true blizzard indeed!
Waking up on Saturday morning was both thrilling and overwhelming.
Thrilling because we had power! I can't believe it stayed on, but so grateful it did. Why on earth would people living in a climate like this not have a secondary heat source (that's me I'm talking to)? Really need to correct that.
We do have a generator and had plenty of fuel on hand to run it if necessary. But to me, fuel dependent generators are a (loud!) band-aid. Not a true, lasting solution.
Overwhelming because it still snowed for several more hours after I took these early morning pictures. It was a little comical actually... um, where do we start?
I have not seen this much snow from one storm since the Blizzard of '78, I was six at the time. In our area, snow accumulations over this past weekend were in the 30-40 inch range (exceeding most '78 accumulations), not taking into account the drifting and snow banks left from plows. That is, if you were lucky enough to have your street plowed. I know some are still waiting.
While visiting Northern Maine recently, I couldn't help but notice how wide the roads were. Even my parents road, a quiet, not well-traveled dirt road on the backside of a lake, is incredibly wide and spacious. I image the width of those roads is by careful design. Receiving heavy snowfall for several months out of the year, you have to have somewhere to push all that snow. Extra wide roads provide the room to do so.
We don't exactly have large snowfall accommodating roads down here. And it's a little difficult right now because of that. It will melt eventually, and people are managing as best they can, but most of our 2-4 lane roads are now reduced to 1-2 lanes. Definitely keeps you on your toes when driving.
Scouty Boy was of course beside himself with glee. He spent a good deal of Saturday trailblazing and attacking shovels. Because you know, shovels are evil.
I think it is impossible to photograph this kind of snow (aside from putting a yard stick in the ground and snapping a pic). Walking through it, especially for Scout, you just don't sink to the very bottom. In pictures it appears to be not quite as deep as it really is.
But trust me, that snow is deep.
About mid-day on Saturday the snow tapered off and my fabulous Uncle (of the year!) drove up the street on his bulldozer to plow us out. We were so grateful for this because on Friday when Adam went out to get our own snow plow ready (it's on a tractor), it wouldn't start. Even with him and a neighbor tinkering for an hour, it would not start. Such timing!
I honestly don't know how you could shovel your way out of this kind of snow. Which is what led to my proclamation that truly we are meant to stay home all winter and knit, read books, and live off our pantry supplies and canned goods from the summer garden... truly, family!
They were sure to remind me that I am not in fact, Ma Ingalls, and I should join them in celebrating Uncle Wayne's offer to clear our very long driveway. (Okay, I totally celebrated. It was greatly appreciated.)
After an acceptable amount of snow was cleared, there really wasn't much else to do but lounge around under the blue sky and try to play in the snow.
It was so hard to move around out there. So hard. You can't really imagine the power this amount of snow has until you try to do something simple like take the dog for a potty break. Suddenly you are faced with an activity of epic proportions! Wading through 30 inches of snow is serious business.
Snowshoes were necessary, I don't know how we would have gotten around without them. And when snowshoeing became exhausting, we'd just collapse on the fluffy ground and take in the quiet around us. The quiet of snow.
But you know, there was quiet on the inside too.
The kind of quiet that only comes with blizzard snowfalls, once every thirty years or so.
The kind of quiet that is perfect for staying warm and cozy, a quiet that occupies my busy hands and heart, a quiet that happily channels my inner Ma Ingalls.
The quiet of a blizzard.
Definitely, a storm to remember.