Too Much Snow

We've had a winter's worth of snow in the last couple of weeks, and I'm tired of it. I'm tired of hearing about how pretty snow is. The older I get, the less I'm impressed with how snow looks. Snow is the stuff accidents—wrecked vehicles and broken bones—are made of.

At least the first two snows weren't heavy. Last week's was a powdery couple of inches that soon turned to ice, making it treacherous to get to the barn to feed.

It was impossible to drive on the ice—and difficult for barn-cats to navigate, too.

Those are tractor tracks, not car tracks, in the lawn.

Although ice coated the trees, we didn't have any big limbs come down.

This Thursday's snow was another matter. There was a lot of it, and it was heavy—not powdery.

The tractor was covered with snow, too.

Cats took refuge under cars . . . 

. . .  or leaped headlong into the drifts.

Judging by the snow on the deck rail, it looks like we got about five inches. Maybe more.

Snow was up pretty high on the deck furniture.

I had to walk to the barn to feed Melody and the cats.

Luckily I wore my high boots.

Snow weighed down the boxwoods.

After walking to the barn and back, I spent most of the day in bed.

Later, after John had scraped the driveways and the road beside the house so he could take dog-food to the kennel, the ugliness of the snow was apparent. This is a pile of gravel that used to cover the barn driveway.

Another pile of gravel. And mud.

Another pile of mud and gravel. But this is in the upper driveway near the house.

We had a couple of cats come in search of food. Below, Tanner keeps warm inside while one of our guests dines on the deck.

At least we didn't have any accidents. So far.

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