Tag: New England Winter
13JUN2026 – Photo of the Day
11JUN2026 – Photo of the Day
08JUN2026 – Photo of the Day
06JUN2026 – Photo of the Day
04JUN2026 – Photo of the Day
02JUN2026 – Photo of the Day
Ah, That Was a Proper 2026
So today it got up to 66οF and tonight it’s only going to get down to 38οF. Tomorrow I’m off from work and it’s gonna be 67 οF and sunny all day, with no wind. So, tomorrow is the official first day of un-winter. Camera Girl and I will officially get up a half hour later, eat a leisurely breakfast, stroll around the devastated grounds and then go for a ride and walk around a lake, take a few photographs then go into town and have something special for lunch; maybe Chinese or Thai. Life begins again.
Except for the north side of the garage roof, all the roof snow is practically gone. And some areas of vegetation (mangled and brown) have reappeared behind the retreating snow. Obviously, the absurdly high piles of snow I created over the course of the last few weeks will be there well into April (and in places into May) but those will just be there as a cautionary tale about the folly of living in New England.
The west field will be soggy for weeks while the snow retreats there last. But within a week or two I intend to go there and cut down all of the raspberry canes and spread fertilizer on that bed. Last year that program provided a bonanza of berries and I intend to duplicate that procedure this spring. But the truly awful production we got out of the squash, eggplants and cucumbers over there has convinced me to move all of these beds to the south field. I’m going to dig up a good chunk of lawn over there and plant vegetables and transplant some flowers that have languished too close to the forest shade.
So, there is a plan going forward and plenty of work to do. But it’s just so good to finally be freed from sitting around in the house staring out at a world of snow. They talk about cabin fever and I know exactly what they mean. It’s a depressing, nervous state where you have to invent things to do to keep your mind off of your imprisonment. It’s a time when you try to stick to exercise regimens just to avoid becoming a pile of mush over the inactivity of the winter. And the short days just makes it worse because darkness makes you sleepy.
Okay, I’ll put all that behind me. Winter 2025/2026 is officially dead and buried. Even if we have that stupid April Fools’ Day nor’easter this year, it’s just there to provide “poor man’s fertilizer” for the vegetation. I predict 2026 will be a very productive year with interesting scientific and technological news and improvements on the economic front. But most important I predict that summer 2026 will provide the most memorable cookouts, barbecues and grilling that will be talked about for the next decade and will become a byword for successful outdoor parties. Like some Shire gaffer, in the future you’ll see me eating a cheeseburger smothered in onions and relish and here me declare, “Ah, that was a proper 2026!”
Sometimes There is No Winning
I mentioned the other day that we were getting a foot of snow. And in the current political environment, that means the state is shut down. Even First Selectman Cthulhu shut down the Dunwich government and spent the day eating the road salt that the state provides for town road clearance. He really likes salt even though it’s bad for his blood pressure. His doctor told him to keep it below 10,000 atmospheres over 6,000. But what can you do? He loves him some salt.
Now I decided not to start clearing the snow until today (Tuesday) because they said the snow could continue until 7am. And even though that turned out to be incorrect (it was a cloudless sky this morning) I was undismayed. I had nowhere to go today (everything is closed) so I had all day to blow the snow off the top driveway. I had a leisurely breakfast at 7am and by 9:30 am I sauntered out and started up the snowblower. And it turned over like a champ and I put it in gear and moved it to where I wanted to start the clearing. Then I turned the chute in the direction I wanted it and squeezed the trigger to start the auger. And horrible noises proceeded from this possessed contraption.
Long story short; my snowblower is on the sidelines. And so, what started as a leisurely day of snow removal became the Bataan Death March. A foot of snow is kind of a lot when you have as much area as my driveways and other areas add up to. In the words of every action hero that reaches that golden age, “I’m getting too old for this crap.” I performed a mental triage of what did and didn’t have to be cleared to allow us to get out on Wednesday morning. I cleared the area in front of the garage. I cleared a path from Camera Girl’s car to the upper driveway and I cleared the whole upper driveway including the thirty inches of compacted snow and ice that the plough trucks sealed my driveway in with. That last part was rough. I abandoned the lower driveway altogether. I left snow sitting close to the front door and I didn’t even clear the area around the shed (other than a path to get in and out of it). And even with these omissions I didn’t get finished until an hour after sunset.
And now I ache in every joint and every muscle. The piles of snow have gotten so high that I had to pitch each shovelful with all the force I could generate by rotating the shovel in a long arc. If there were an Olympic event in snow tossing, I might have broken the world record. So, I got in and there was a very nice dinner waiting for the “conquering hero.” But then Camera Girl mentioned that the forecast had changed and now they’re talking about snow in the morning. And more snow on Thursday.
Sometimes there is no winning.
Now Where is That Hammock
It’s ten a.m. on Sunday morning and the much-vaunted snow-pocalypse has begun its reign of terror. A steady fall of small snow flakes are descending out of a gray sky. The temperature has soared from a low last night of two degrees Fahrenheit to a current balmy twenty degrees. I’ve announced to Camera Girl that I intend to skip snow removal altogether today and save my efforts for Monday when the lion’s share of the snow will be on the ground. The current predicted accumulation for Sunday through Monday is ten to fifteen inches of the white stuff. All in all, that’s not horrible. The snow blower is 24 inches high. Now, even fifteen inches will slow the work way down but you have to look at these things in the right way. I’ll abandon the bottom driveway for the next few days and start off with a path for my car to get out on the top. Then I’ll clear the entire top driveway and adjacencies and slowly work on the bottom driveway in a strategic fashion. And the wind will play an important part in that operation. Fifteen inches of snow isn’t a monstrous height but if wind forces me to dump off the snow right next to the row I’m clearing, it will quickly end up as three feet before very long.
And this is the sad reality of life in New England. Aspects of snow removal become the focus of your every waking hour. Equipment maintenance and repair, severity of the weather, work and chore scheduling, current health and injuries. It’s all very, very tedious and boring. But completely unavoidable. That is unless there is some plan for escape! But I know that will never be. I’m bound by the heavy chains of family responsibility. They’ve got me.
And that’s why Jake Barter is such a comfort to me in these times of tribulation. Jake resides on an island paradise somewhere in the South Pacific. Lying in a hammock beneath coconut palms he sips a cool drink while balmy zephyrs maintain a perfect seventy-eight degrees. And if by some miracle the temperature reaches eighty-two, he need only spring from his berth and swim about in the warm clear ocean for a few minutes before returning to his rest where he awaits the mellow sound of a dinner gong announcing the beginning of a feast concocted of pork, coconut, honey and spices, fit for the king that he is.
Oh, well. Maybe in my next life. But for now, I’ll count my blessings. The roof hasn’t collapsed under the weight of the snow. The propane tanks are full enough for even a two-week power outage. I have plenty of DVDs to keep me amused during the “weather crisis” and Camera Girl assures me we have enough food for the next few days at least. And tomorrow, my marketer has informed me begins the efforts to advertise “The Sniper.” I had assumed it would happen when the publication occurred on Wednesday. But you know what they say about assuming.
Well, we shall see. Today Amazon has it listed as:
Best Sellers Rank: #144,617 in Books
#599 in Technothrillers (Books)
#14,261 in Science Fiction (Books)
It would be nice if each of those numbers was shortened by a zero or two.
Now where is that hammock?