The other side of the snow story

In my last post, I waxed poetic about how beautiful the snowy landscape is. I'm a romantic at heart, so it's by instinct that I choose to write first and foremost about the lovely views presented by a snow storm. But I have a practical side, too, and am not immune to the down sides of such a weather event. It's not all about Snowflake Fairies and enchanted forests here, you know.

When I mention to my parents that I'm excited about a potentially snowy forecast, they think I'm a little crazy. I can't blame them, really. I don't have a sidewalk to worry about clearing like they do. But I do have a crazy steep driveway with a switchback that can be treacherous or even impassable if it's too slushy or icy, even with a 4-wheel-drive vehicle. Also, living on rural back roads means that the township street-cleaning crews will get to you... eventually. Just don't expect clear roads when you leave for work in the morning. And let's not forget the joyful exercise of clearing snow and ice from your vehicle if you happen to not have a garage in which to house it. Oh yes, and frozen locks and doors on the cars, too - that's always fun.

Then there's the matter of storm damage to trees, power lines, and homes. Icy and/or windy conditions add to the potential for disaster. When the howling wind wakes me up in the middle of the night, I set a battery-powered backup alarm clock in case the plugged-in version loses juice. This could happen any time of year, actually, but it seems a more likely possibility when ice- or snow-weighted branches are tossing around in the breezes, poised to bring down a power line at any moment.

With any major snow storm comes inconveniences, such as closed schools (although that's no inconvenience to the students!), closed businesses, delayed or canceled flights, the aforementioned lack of electricity. In general, things just don't flow as smoothly as we are used to them flowing, and in this face-paced, give-it-to-me-now world of ours... well, stuttering steps and hiccups in the system tend to make people cranky.

Oh, and did I mention the cold? When the temps hover around freezing and the wind doesn't blow, it's not so bad. But the one-two punch of cold and windy - well, honestly, I'm tired of it. I'm tired of dressing in layers. Every. Single. Day. (My office is a little on the cold side.) I'm tired of walking around outside like some mechanical penguin, taking steps that are shorter than usual because I'm trying not to fall on the ice. And don't get me started on the constant "hat hair."

What about the animals? I always feel bad for the cows and horses that we drive past each day on our way to work, standing there chewing their cud while snow accumulates on their backs. I can see some of the barns that would house them if they chose to get in from the weather, but they remain outside, so they must not mind it much. If only I had such thick skin (or hair). I'm sure many wild creatures are equipped to handle the extremes of the seasons, but when things get too extreme, some will perish. I heard on the radio just this morning about manatees and alligators that have died in parts of Florida because the warm water they inhabit got too cold during a visit from Jack Frost in January.

Ultimately, it's such harsh extremes in weather (not just snow, but earthquakes, floods, tornadoes, hurricanes, tsunamis, etc.) that remind us that we do not have as much control over things as we think we have. The weather is one of the most tangible reminders of the power and presence of nature in our lives. And even though it can cause inconvenience, loss and tragedy, its beauty remains undeniable. That's the part I can't ignore.

Exploring a winterscape

The storm is over, but it left a snowy wonderland in its wake. Looking out upon it all, a strange, disjointed mix of emotion is conjured - at once beautiful and oppressive, light and dark, ethereal and lonely. It is a soul-stirring scene, portrayed almost as if it were a dream.


Enchanted Forest
Everyone is all dressed in white. I almost expect to see the Ice Queen emerge from the forest, making a grand entrance from one of the many openings created by the bowed trees. She has opted to send the Snowflake Fairies in her place instead. The tiniest flakes are falling - drifting lazily, effortlessly - touching down in silence. They glide in on graceful wings, each different from the last, their uniqueness making them all the more beautiful.


The Snowflake Fairies
The forest looks alternately enchanted and eerie. The trees are arched in unnatural positions, some bent almost in half, and seem unsure whether to welcome you with their outstretched arms or whether to warn you that they could snap without warning under the strain. The clogged branches limit visibility from our house to the road. They even limit visibility of the sky. It's a unique feeling, having the trees bearing down on you in this way - a feeling that would likely be unwelcome to a claustrophobe. The beech and oak trees weep the most, their stubbornly leafed branches draping gracefully toward the ground. Most are resilient and will spring back when the thaw begins. Others, though, especially the fragile Redbuds, may not fare as well.


Trees bend down to block out the sky
What must the birds think of all this... mess? One might think that the drooping branches would interfere with their flight patterns, but apparently they do not. Even though I cannot spot them from afar as easily as usual, they seem to have no trouble navigating this modified landscape. Their focus is singular: food. Or more broadly defined: survival. They have no storm team forecasters in their midst (that we know of), so they have to get as much nourishment as they can find as quickly as possible. For all they know, the seed and suet will run out tomorrow and the snow could be around for an eternity, so eat up!

Surviving
The landscape is monochrome, painted in shades of white and gray. Cloud-filled skies, dark and dreary, offer an odd contrast to the brightly flocked trees. The trunks and branches of the shrubs and trees offer welcome breaks of color amidst the sea of white. As one approaches the flora, hints of other colors become apparent. Vibrant moss, lichen and fungi remind us that, despite the seemingly void feeling of this bleak winterscape, things are very much alive. And very much beautiful.

Snow Dog

Our dog Emmett is a Husky mix, so hanging out in the snow is second nature to him. He politely accepted my offer to snap some pictures of him while he enjoyed laying in the snow this weekend.


Isn't he so handsome?

He's an outside dog 99.9% of the time, but he got himself good and wet this weekend, and seeing how the temperature isn't going to get above freezing in the next few days, we thought he'd like to have the icicles thawed off of his fur at some point. So, he's sitting at my feet right now, curled up in front of the wood stove. After several hours inside, he's almost dry. But all this heat... it's making him sleepy. Me too, dude. Bed time!