Winter has been stalking us for awhile but it didn’t pounce until a couple of days ago when the howling squalls that paralyzed so much of the country settled onto our valley and transformed these hills into a whisper of Paradise. The creek. That’s what you hear. The creek. In places where the ice is translucent, the currents swirl under it in gracefully shifting patterns oddly like the curtain dance of the Northern Lights.
We prepared for the worst, of course: power outage, falling trees, downed and twitching power lines, wind damage, no phone service, no internet, and crossed our fingers to ward off some emergency we couldn’t see coming. We filled containers with water to drink and the bathtub with water to flush; lanterns in every room; portable generators charged; flashlights in pockets; salt on the steps; Forester parked facing out. We were ready. The local road crews were ready. Each inch means more overtime. The wind blew. The snow fell. The worst came and went, leaving us unscathed with two feet of new snow, one full moon, and a landscape that could have been Narnia.
It’s always been a challenge to live here - a drafty old farm house in the boonies - especially so now that we’re older (I did use the chainsaw yesterday to cut some firewood, although that, according to my RN daughter, is no longer an option). But, the peace and beauty of this place is too valuable to kvetch about the downside. There really is no downside, just a bunch of hard work. But, so what? Stop procrastinating. Get up on that roof, boychik! Yes, it used to be, “So, what?”, only, let’s be honest, these days it’s more “Oy, vey!” Lucky for me that Jamie’s such a good sport. We’re a “fur piece” from Hollywood. She traded in her high heels years ago. “Hi, Ho, the glamorous life…”.
For years a snowfall such as this sent me out into the woods dawn ‘til dusk. What you can see and hear in all that stillness! Now, I think, I’d better get the walk shovelled for the FedEx guy delivering the paper towels from Walmart and hope I make it back to the porch. But, I am telling you folks, a snowfall like this one, a fire blazing in the hearth, a snifter of Port, a companion of forty-four years with beautiful green eyes who loves me even when I’m acting like an asshole, and two dogs. Hard to beat, huh? And I don’t have to go to Aruba.
So, the question remains. A neighbor, a local, now deceased, but at the age of 91 drove himself an hour away to the hospital while he was in the midst of a heart attack. Those folks were some tough breed. Used to be our local hospital had to send out for band-aids. Nice people, caring and very nice, but it hasn’t gotten a lot more medically adept since we moved here nearly forty years ago (Medicare does not cover “bleedings”). So far, our one emergency, mine, was handled beautifully by our local paramedics. Still, we’re a long way away. I tell myself the thirteen steps to the second floor bedroom are great exercise, as is planting stuff, minor repair stuff, hauling wood and whatever else gotta get hauled around here, but it is getting harder, and that’s a bummer (That dates me, doesn’t it? Bummer). I know, like preparing for the storm, preparing for the future ought to be a no-brainer except when one has no idea what that future is supposed to be. Is this where Zen kicks in? “I’ll deal with it when it gets here?” But, what is it, exactly, that is going to get here? And when is all this whatever supposed to happen? Conspiracy theories welcome.
