Jan 28 2016
If you’re on Facebook, or if you peruse the local papers, then you’ve gorged on snow photos.
Well, I’m sorry to subject you to more. I promise, this’ll be quick and painless. And then we can move on:
With all the white hype, last Friday, Martin tried to resuscitate our tractor, which was suffering from starter problems.
With assistance, Martin kicked the tractor into gear, but it blew a hydraulic hose, which rendered the bucket inoperable. (The bucket was a lead actor in this performance.)
While Martin gave the tractor mouth-to-mouth, I went grocery shopping. The choices were slim pickings.
Snow started falling and accumulating on Friday night. By Saturday morning we were snowed in: the drifts sealed the mudroom door shut.
Snow permeated every crevice. In the mudroom, snow billowed through a wisp of a crack in the dog door. By morning, an inch of snow filled all of our shoes.
Much like the storm of 2010, the drifts piled up along the fencelines… and 18 inches really meant 3 or 4 feet.
The drifts proved too much for Maisie.
On Sunday — tractorless — we began to dig out. The horses were the first to be liberated.
The path to the sheep was ponderous.
Eventually we dug a trench to the sheep shed and — crawling and slogging — I ferried hay and water to them on a sled.
The sheep were utterly ungrateful.
All the while, the kids rode out the storm at my cousins’ house (where the risk of a power outage was minimal.)
It was a struggle over there:
Without an operable tractor, we were paralyzed. So we called for backup; Andy and his Cat plowed us out.
But first things first: we had to mark the drive, so Andy knew where to plow.
Andy removed the snow like a peel from an orange…
… and in the process, he created a mountain of snow… a sledding hill from what was once a plateau.
The kids built a luge run and an igloo.
It is part of the landscape until melting overcomes everything.
And life returns to normal.