Snowmagedden

Yep, old timers hanging around the pickle barrel at the local fish and tackle will remember the “great storm of ‘015” and will recount how the snow drifts were “as high as yer arm pits”; the relentless, never ending snow that felled trees and caused street side mail boxes to disappear under its shroud. “Why, even Broadway’s theaters closed down, can you imagine that, by cracky”. Martial law went into effect in NYC; only way to get the cars off the road so that the snow plows could do their work.  And yet it wasn’t the worst blizzard. NYC's biggest snowfall on record hit on Feb. 11, 2006, dumping 26.9 inches of powder on the city over two days. The second largest blizzard killed at least 77 people when it struck and dropped 25.8 inches on Dec. 26, 1947. But enough about the Big Apple, here, south of the Mason Dixon Line, life is more genteel. Our snow would never dream of such rudeness. It is quiet and elegant, gently falling. We stopped at 23 inches. 

For us, real life started with the cute Campbell’s soup commercial. Mom was cruising the aisles, two children in tow, dropping soups into her cart while the PA system announced that “the snow was expected to fall for the next 24 hours; white out conditions, schools will be closed” at which point mom picked up a bottle of wine -- presumably to go with the soup.  We decided to follow her lead. After picking up a case of wine and a few bottles of scotch, our attention turned to food, firewood, full tanks of gas, batteries for flashlights, and a fired up generator. We were ready, bring it on, and then, and then, nothing big happened. Well, it snowed and kept on snowing, but while the D.C. and Baltimore news reports showed snow blowing sideways; gale force winds and a relentless blizzard taking place on the western shore, not much was going on here on the eastern shore. I vaguely felt left out, but this morning we woke up to find that it had snowed all night, and that various landmarks had disappeared under the snow. The pool is gone as is the walkway to the dock. There are little snow mounds where bushes previously sat. I'm sitting in the kitchen waiting to see if any geese or ducks bounce off the cove’s frozen waters. I can hear it now: Head duck to duck party: "Coming in for a landing, boing boing boing, uh, trying again further south, keep flapping those wings". I'm quite taken, though, by a small bush on the other side of the pool fence; its little red berries are shining through all the white. It's the only color anywhere. Our little bush lives in hope. 

Our cats are fascinated by the changes; they’ve sat on various window ledges for hours, stoically staring out the windows, waiting for some entertainment that does not appear to be arriving. And, while nothing tragic occurred at our home; no loss of electricity, not even loss of internet, the fire glowed in the fireplace all evening, our down blanket kept us warm through the dark night and the coffee pot percolated this morning, I am grateful that no tragedies occurred at our home. The radio scanner tells about various tragedies that occurred during the night; other homes that caught fire, homes without electricity, downed power lines, car accidents, people stuck in their cars for hours, snow drifts and even fallen animals that needed to be rescued from the icy waters. I am grateful too for the hundreds of unsung heroes -- those men and women who left their own homes and families to take care of others in need. Thank you.