For some, a sure sign of spring is a baseball home opener. For others it's the first daffodil or snowdrop. Some listen for the swift gurgling of a trout stream while others pore over patio furniture ads. But an April Fool's Day blizzard?
Ah, no doubt, spring is close at hand.
This year's storm was predicted early on, anticipated on the front page of the Sunday paper under the headline "Get ready." Most people I talked to got ready by planning on having Tuesday off of work with the kids out of school. And that seems to be the case. Heck, even the library's closed today.
I noticed the first flakes a little before five p.m. Monday, as the dogs and I walked to the corner for the paper and mail. The paper was stuck in its usual place in the snowbank. (After one particular fierce storm a month or so ago, the orange plastic tube for paper delivery was plowed under.) The temperature was just north of freezing, the wind light and southerly.
At five-thirty a blizzard warning trailed across the bottom of the TV screen.
At six the evening news led off with the nascent storm, booting the local murder trial from the lead for the first time in weeks.
By bed time, though, I wondered. The snow was more like a sloshy rain and the wind a mere whisper. Was a blizzard really likely?
At one a.m. I awoke to the sound of the upstairs neighbors teaching their pet elephants how to dance. Or were they throwing bowling balls at each other? Wait a minute ... I don't have upstairs neighbors. The phone beeped, indicating the electricity had come back on. When did it go off? A bit unsettled, I got up and looked out the window. The pines were lashing about, tossing needles and twigs at random, as if they were three-year-olds left unattended after sucking down too many cans of Mountain Dew. Yahoo! Clumps of snow and slush were dropping out of the sky, clods hurtling against the windows, pummeling the roof.
By seven, the windows I could see out of offered up a world as white as the windows I could not see out of. The snow was drifting and drifted. It clung, thick and wet, to every branch, every little twig, every small, trembling needle. The wind blew fiercely from the north, north east, bringing in new snow, or, in moments of pure whimsy, just whipping up that which had fallen, wanting to play with it again. A pile of wet slop had piled up against the door.
And so it goes on April Fool's Day. A friend called to make sure I was all right, and I told her I was thinking of going into town. She asked if I were nuts, then, if you do go, she said, can you pick me up some sliced Swiss cheese? About eleven I went out to survey the possibilities and saw I would have to drive through at least a foot of drifted snow and then under a fair amount of dangling snow to get out. The wind was howling, blowing, kicking up a fuss.
Perhaps, you think, a strange sign of spring. But we all know you have to start somewhere. And sometimes the place you start looks nothing like where you end up.
Ah, no doubt, spring is close at hand.
This year's storm was predicted early on, anticipated on the front page of the Sunday paper under the headline "Get ready." Most people I talked to got ready by planning on having Tuesday off of work with the kids out of school. And that seems to be the case. Heck, even the library's closed today.
I noticed the first flakes a little before five p.m. Monday, as the dogs and I walked to the corner for the paper and mail. The paper was stuck in its usual place in the snowbank. (After one particular fierce storm a month or so ago, the orange plastic tube for paper delivery was plowed under.) The temperature was just north of freezing, the wind light and southerly.
At five-thirty a blizzard warning trailed across the bottom of the TV screen.
At six the evening news led off with the nascent storm, booting the local murder trial from the lead for the first time in weeks.
By bed time, though, I wondered. The snow was more like a sloshy rain and the wind a mere whisper. Was a blizzard really likely?
At one a.m. I awoke to the sound of the upstairs neighbors teaching their pet elephants how to dance. Or were they throwing bowling balls at each other? Wait a minute ... I don't have upstairs neighbors. The phone beeped, indicating the electricity had come back on. When did it go off? A bit unsettled, I got up and looked out the window. The pines were lashing about, tossing needles and twigs at random, as if they were three-year-olds left unattended after sucking down too many cans of Mountain Dew. Yahoo! Clumps of snow and slush were dropping out of the sky, clods hurtling against the windows, pummeling the roof.
By seven, the windows I could see out of offered up a world as white as the windows I could not see out of. The snow was drifting and drifted. It clung, thick and wet, to every branch, every little twig, every small, trembling needle. The wind blew fiercely from the north, north east, bringing in new snow, or, in moments of pure whimsy, just whipping up that which had fallen, wanting to play with it again. A pile of wet slop had piled up against the door.
And so it goes on April Fool's Day. A friend called to make sure I was all right, and I told her I was thinking of going into town. She asked if I were nuts, then, if you do go, she said, can you pick me up some sliced Swiss cheese? About eleven I went out to survey the possibilities and saw I would have to drive through at least a foot of drifted snow and then under a fair amount of dangling snow to get out. The wind was howling, blowing, kicking up a fuss.
Perhaps, you think, a strange sign of spring. But we all know you have to start somewhere. And sometimes the place you start looks nothing like where you end up.
