This is the view of the sky from my desk. A. Wall. Of. Snow. And this is pretty much the story of this winter in Vermont. One massive snow storm after another. Which has a lot of people complaining and I can’t blame anyone one bit.
Truth is . . . though I don’t say it to folks over checkout counters—I’ve loved nearly every minute. To me it’s perfect, this kind of old-fashioned winter with tons of snow. It favors my two favorite activities: writing and skiing.
Of course there are always the days when my people have to get places on not-yet-plowed roads—raising mayhem and drama . . . But in truth I don’t mind that either. Not so much. At least it’s entertaining.
It’s a dozen times better than what we get next: MUD—the real trial-by-fire. The major payment for spring. Yeah, I know, if you live in a paved place you wouldn’t know what I mean, but this is the reality of dirt roads: they turn to soup when they thaw from a long winter. We don’t plan a whole lot around snow—but we sure do plan around Mud Season. It’s not fun, there’s no drama, just crunching axles and wheel wells full of muck. It’s all too possible that a foray out of our lairs may be the last anyone sees of us. Swallowed by the road.
This weekend, after two days of rain, we may not be going anywhere without a tractor . . .