Alexandersmap

    Tag: snow

    • White As Snow

      (Reposting this from December 7 after it reverted to a draft for some reason)

      A few days ago I said let it snow, and 1200 miles of driving in it constantly across the middle and Southern Tier of New York and through Massachusetts and New Hampshire I regret not being more specific in my statement. Lake Effect snow made Upstate New York a snow globe, and bands of snow stayed with me all the way back. Slushy roads and slippery when wet caution cones mocked my dress shoes the entire week, and I deserved the mockery for leaving my boots and waterproof hiking shoes sitting in the car instead of on my feet. I know better but slipped and slid my way along anyway. Common sense did not prevail in footwear this week.

      Still, there’s nothing like fresh snow on a sunny morning, and I can finally pause long enough to appreciate it. It’s a stark background that pushes things that normally recede into the background forward. Hillsides of gray and black tree trunks rolled in waves alongside me for much of the week. Back home with the sun unmasked for the first time in a week, I watch the dance of illumination and shadow as sunbeams find their way through the woods with no leaves to block them as they explore. Puffs of snow drift of branches, stirred by the wind, mixing with rays of light and remind me the woods are never still, even after snowfall. Looking deeper into the woods squirrels scurry about, puffy gray tails bouncing all the while, in search of food hidden under the snow. Birds zip to the feeder and back to cover, always watchful for hawks and neighborhood cats. I wonder at the performance as my indoor cat snacks me with her tail, yearning to be free of the glass keeping her from the hunt.

      Those birds demand attention, and I count dozens moving in turns to the feeder. Food brings life to the stark backyard of winter, and it enlivens this cat’s tail as I write. Empty mug and stomach are looking for attention to, and this writing session comes to an end. The empty page soon filled with words, like tree trunks on a snowy hill, and I’m grateful for the inspiration.

    • Let it Snow

      The snow arrived late in the day Sunday, and is staying for awhile. It wasn’t a surprise; this storm has lumbered across the country painting the landscape white, and now it’s New Hampshire’s turn. I welcome it with the reluctance of a road warrior. This guest came at a bad time, but snow is here and all I can do is make the most of it. Let it snow.

      If the world craves attention a major snowstorm demands it. It changes everything about daily life, to-do lists and appointments and travel time and what you wear when you walk out the door. For a Monday when I anticipated driving 325 miles to Rochester, New York, it’s surely changed my plans. So be it. Let it snow.

      Yesterday the last leaves were cleaned up, gas cans filled, snow blowers and generators fired up, batteries charged, pantries filled and firewood chopped. This morning snow changes the world and all is still but for the scrape of the plow, the strain of a single snowblower who’s master simply must get to work, no excuses. Birds chirp away at the feeder, busily flittering for position. The rest of the world sleeps. Let it snow.

      It’s Monday and I have things to do; calls to make, meetings to reschedule, bases to touch and reports to file. The driveway calls but I’m not it’s servant this morning. Snow changes more than the landscape, and I feel the change in me. Let it snow.

    • Chickadees in the Snow

      “All substance is soon absorbed into nature, all that animates it soon restored to the logos, all trace of them both soon covered over by time.” – Marcus Aurelius

      I was helping Bodhi down the stairs last night and noticed a set of chickadee tracks in the snow.  I thought to myself that they would make a great picture for the right photographer (I’m a pale alternative).  Bodhi proceeded to step into the snowy tracks, forever changing the image.  And yet there were still a couple of other tracks in the snow that I opted to leave well enough alone.

      This morning the tracks were still there.  Not a complete surprise since the temperatures remained below freezing and there was no snow overnight.  But there will be tonight and these tracks will disappear in time; a memory for me and anyone else who happens to see them before they’re forever lost.  So I took a picture to capture the moment.  I’ve done my best to capture as many moments as I can with photography.  I recognize that sometimes you have to live the moment instead of constantly having the phone out, and I’ve tried to keep the phone in my pocket most of the time.  Perhaps InstaGram has suffered for the omission, but I don’t believe the 20-30 people who look at my pictures felt the lapse.

      There is only today after all.  We’re told to make the most of it and generally I live that way.  Capturing a moment in time with a photograph is a blessing for only the last eight generations or so.  We all see time flies by too quickly.  Footprints or castles in the sand are typical analogies to this rapid passage of time and our fragile place in it.  But I think I prefer the chickadee footprints in the snow as my analogy.  Chickadees are fragile creatures, and yet they find ways to deal with the harsh New England winters.  Chickadees are social creatures, as much for survival as anything else.  Humans share similar survival instincts, and the same fragility.  Time marches on.  Best to focus on the day at hand.

    • Coating to an Inch

      There’s mental math that you do when you live in New England.  When the forecast calls for snow followed by temperatures above freezing, you need to decide the cutoff point where you ignore or clear the snow accumulated on the driveway.  Today is a classic case of just enough accumulation – more than a coating – to consider scraping it off the driveway and deck.  My default after years of experience is that you clean the driveway and enjoy the warming trend later.  Don’t count on a melt-off, because New England weather can dash your dreams quickly.

      I’ve had plenty of coating to an inch storms that I’ve decided to let Mother Nature “just melt” that have haunted me later.  That warming trend doesn’t materialize, the meteorologist shrugs and marvels at the way the front came through and I’m left with a skating rink for a driveway.  No, best to clear the driveway and deck and just call it a light workout.

      There have been some business trips where I’ve come home and the residents of the home have determined that the math worked in their favor.  That’s when ice melt becomes your ally.  When the equation turns to despair, you introduce ten to twenty pounds of salt to the driveway.  This is a safety net, but not the preferred way of doing things.  This paragraph is curmudgeon talk.  Best to just keep your mouth shut, clean the driveway as best you can and wait a day to three weeks until the next warming trend melts off the discretion.

    • A Stake in the Ground

      A Stake in the Ground

      Here in New England, if you own property and you want the keep your lawn intact you have to mark the line where the lawn meets the street.  This is so that tired plow drivers don’t take the shortest path between two points and plow straight across your lawn.  Having both property and a lawn that curves outward towards the street, my yard is a natural for plow drivers wishing to unearth dormant worms.

      The only defense from the snow plow is the stake.  Mark thy property or forever regret the loss of turf.  And so I hammer stakes into the ground in hopes that the plow guys (or ladies?) follow the clearly marked path.  Alas, inevitably at least one plow will choose to ignore the stakes and opt for the straight path.  But you have to try, and in November and early December it’s time to pound the stakes.

      2018 brought early snow, much sooner than I was able to mark the lawn with stakes.  Being in Key West at the time, I had to hope for a plower who knew the curves on our street.  For the most part that bore out, but I knew I was operating on borrowed time and drove in a pair of stakes as soon as I got back.  And just to be sure, I’ve added four more to clearly mark the curve.

      Will it help?  I’m not optimistic, but I can’t give up either.  Such is the dance in the snow belt.  We do what we can with what we have, and hope that the plows are kind.