Day 92: The first phase of Snowmageddon 2020 swept in just after...well, I live in the Pacific Northwest. We don't use the term "sundown" here because few of us have ever seen the yellow orb which graces the sky in other parts of the world. Let's say "dinnertime" then, although that's subject to individual interpretation, but for argument's sake, we'll use it to mean roughly 6 PM. It had not been snowing when I closed the drapes, so it began some time after Gloom and perhaps a little before Pitch-Black Dark. By the time I thought to check against my neighbour's yard light, it was coming down hard and an inch and a half lay on the ground. I stepped out onto the porch long enough to free the Towhee who had locked himself in the squirrel trap, whereupon he made an immediate dash for the shelter of the contorted filbert. I have to wonder how many birds roost inside its tangled branches on cold winter nights. I suspect quite a few, because it offers such good protection against predators. This morning, I woke to 8" piled up on the crow board, and it was obvious that wind had carried some of it away because my footprints were deeper, almost over the tops of my 12-inch muck boots. A mass of cranky birds ranging from chickadees to crows let me know they were expecting breakfast. Snowmageddon is by no means done if the forecast is accurate. Temperatures may dip into the low 20s midweek, and almost every day through Thursday holds the possibility of "an additional 1-3 inches of snow." I have nowhere to go. The fridge is stocked. I have projects to work on and books to read. As long as the power stays on, I can just kick back and enjoy Snowmageddon from the comfort of my living room.
Monday, January 13, 2020
Snowmageddon 2020
Day 92: The first phase of Snowmageddon 2020 swept in just after...well, I live in the Pacific Northwest. We don't use the term "sundown" here because few of us have ever seen the yellow orb which graces the sky in other parts of the world. Let's say "dinnertime" then, although that's subject to individual interpretation, but for argument's sake, we'll use it to mean roughly 6 PM. It had not been snowing when I closed the drapes, so it began some time after Gloom and perhaps a little before Pitch-Black Dark. By the time I thought to check against my neighbour's yard light, it was coming down hard and an inch and a half lay on the ground. I stepped out onto the porch long enough to free the Towhee who had locked himself in the squirrel trap, whereupon he made an immediate dash for the shelter of the contorted filbert. I have to wonder how many birds roost inside its tangled branches on cold winter nights. I suspect quite a few, because it offers such good protection against predators. This morning, I woke to 8" piled up on the crow board, and it was obvious that wind had carried some of it away because my footprints were deeper, almost over the tops of my 12-inch muck boots. A mass of cranky birds ranging from chickadees to crows let me know they were expecting breakfast. Snowmageddon is by no means done if the forecast is accurate. Temperatures may dip into the low 20s midweek, and almost every day through Thursday holds the possibility of "an additional 1-3 inches of snow." I have nowhere to go. The fridge is stocked. I have projects to work on and books to read. As long as the power stays on, I can just kick back and enjoy Snowmageddon from the comfort of my living room.
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