Blizzard lived up to its hype in these parts at least: I’d estimate we got somewhere between 24 and 30 inches. Difficult to calculate exactly; it was drifting so hard. Around 6, the wind finally stopped, and we scurried out to dig out the cars before the snow got crusty and heavy. (Can’t really use a snowblower on the cars; they’re too close together.)
We dug till 9, then sat around the kitchen till midnight or so, drinking wine, nibbling cheese, discussing recipes.
Plow guys haven’t shown up yet, but I imagine they will shortly.
Originally, I’d wanted to keep a path open to the road, but that proved impossible: At the peak of the storm, the snow must have been coming down at four inches an hour, and it was gusting wildly. Anything you shoveled immediately blew back in your face.
The roads are still mostly empty except for those enormous trucks with plows stuck to their fronts. Those trucks look like some species of robot dinosaur.
And people hereabouts should be skiing until June.
Snow shoveling is satisfying physical work. It’s repetitive, so you fall into a rhythm that’s almost meditative, that quiets the mind. And you can immediately see the results of your labor.
There’s also a certain amount of logistics involved in disposing of large amounts of snow: You have to figure out a place to put that snow, and that place is often many feet away from the place you’re shoveling.
Still. I'm ready to be done with snow shoveling for this year.