We got about six inches of wet snow last night and we’ll probably get another coupla-three-inches over the course of the day today. So, for the first time this winter I took the snow blower out and ran it around the upper driveway. It was repaired before the winter and the foot of the housing was adjusted higher. So now it leaves about a half inch of snow on the ground. With dry snow this isn’t an issue but the wet stuff we got last night can gum up the works and you end up with snow compacting into slushy ice and the blower riding on top of the ice and before you know it there’s a four-inch frozen layer that you have to remove by shovel.
But honestly, I think it was enjoyable to go out and do some work. All of this will be gone in less than a week. All I’ve got to do is make sure I can get the cars in and out of the driveway and the rest of it will melt more or less on its own. So I spent a couple of hours today with about half the time being shovel work on very heavy wet snow. And I’m feeling energized because of it.
Winter is rearing its ugly head for sure. Eight or nine inches of wet show is nothing to scorn but knowing that it won’t be lying around for three months is a big deal. It’s three weeks to celestial spring. Sure, we can have three feet of snow on April Fool’s Day. It’s already been proven. But winter has run out of time to break our backs or our spirits.
Right now, I’m looking out the balcony door at the snow sifting down through the still winter air. It’s kind of beautiful. I can hear the red winged black birds squawking around Camera Girl’s bird feeders. This week hundreds of them have appeared and swarmed the area. Maybe it’s their mating season or something. But all the noise tells me something about the imminence of Spring. The daffodils that appeared last week are buried in the wet snow. But they’ve got some kind of anti-freeze in their cells that will keep them from dying. The mallards have been wading around the pond and their ducklings will be sure to appear soon.
Around Dunwich there’s all kinds of excitement. The budget is a shambles and we have no money. The peasants have broken out the torches and pitchforks. They’ll be marching to First Selectman Cthulhu’s lair soon just in time to be his first Black Sabbath feast. In my new role as his “Least Lackey” I will be in charge of manning the barbecue sauce pumping station. It will be my responsibility to hose down the marchers so that His Honor can swallow them quickly and enjoyably. I hope he notes that I’ve selected the roasted garlic and lemon-flavored sauce this season. It adds just the right touch of piquance to the flavor of what the First Selectman likes to call “Dunwich sushi.” Oh, he’s so droll. Who says Great Old Ones have no sense of humor? Well, gotta go. The snow, it calls me.