The Revenge of Winter

 

Winter was kind of a non-winter for us this year.  It was warmish, then cold, snowed a bit, then melted.  The snow that began to fall last night around 9 o'clock was on a mission helped along by 40-50 mph wind gusts.  This is what I saw when I looked out the window over my bed this morning.  Nothing but white.

I went out with the snowblower around 10 this morning and spent an hour clearing the driveways.  Look at the depth of the drifts in front of the house.  That north wind does it every time.  It also made impressive cornices that hung off the gutters.  After lunch I went out to pull down those cornices because the snow's the wet, heavy kind that's great for making snowmen, snow forts, and igloos but a royal pain to shift out of the way.  I should have put on my snowshoes (which I keep putting into the basement thinking that I'm done with them for the year) because I was mired in snow up over my knees in front of the house trying to pull the snow overhangs down without pulling it down onto my head.  I don't know how long it had been since the plow went by but the plow drift across the bottom of the driveways was filled with frozen snowballs the size of extra large basketballs that tended to refuse to be ground up.  I ended up picking them up and flinging them out of the way.  The irony is that it's supposed to snow again tomorrow and Monday--4 to 8 more inches--and then within a week be up to 50 degrees for at least a few days.  Everything pretty much shut down today, I don't think the mailman even made it around our neighborhood although the newspaper carrier finally delivered the paper around noon.  A blizzard in April.  Sheesh.


In between bouts of snowblowing I went downstairs and cut out patterns so that when I'm

moved to sew I can dig right in instead of having to take time to cut things out.  Mom and I always said that "when we were rich" we'd hire someone to trim our patterns and cut the fabric out so that we could just sew.  I guess this is as close to being rich and hiring a sewing assistant as I'll get.  In this pile there is one Dress No. 2 (orange linen, with sleeves), two Dress No. 1s (natural fabric with writing on it & the turquoise with white line drawings for the front and the multi-color dots for the back), one Shirt No. 1 (the black rayon with the block print fish that's a remake of a Bonaire-bought caftan I haven't worn since the turn of the century), and one Tunic No. 1 (brick, black, and blue-green rayon print that was a floaty caftan top also from Bonaire that didn't get worn but I couldn't bear to get rid of).  All of these are patterns from 100 Acts of Sewing, which I love making because they're simple shapes and simple construction but wearing them makes me feel like I look good plus now I've figured out a way to reuse the clothes I impulse-bought on a Caribbean island that never really translated into something I wore at home.  Tomorrow in between snowblowing I want to cut out a couple more Tunic No. 1s and a couple more Shirt No. 1s so I've got quick and not-so-quick options.  I also need to find a kid's backpack pattern in one of my books downstairs because OJ would like a backpack.  Maybe I should just hide in the basement with my fabric until real spring arrives.

April 14--William Holman Hunt, Our English Coasts (Strayed Sheep).  

the mavericks
the runaways
cluster in a flock
on the rocky ledges
nibble salty grasses
vow never to be caught
never to suffer the nips of sheepdogs
or the prodding of shepherds
to keep their fleece
never to be denuded
in service of a sweater
~~~~~

Three days ago DIL1 and I were talking about getting our gardens up and running, planning how many straw bales we'd need between us (she has strawberries that need to be bedded in straw so the berries don't rot on the ground and I'm thinking if I bring her a bale maybe I'll get a strawberry or two; my mama didn't raise no dummy), and fantasizing about the potatoes I plan to try growing this year.  Today we're ass-deep in snow and the wind is crazy.  I managed to take down the wind chimes before I went to bed last night because their strings would have broken with the flailing they were doing.  This morning I figured out how to take down my Menopausal Goddess sculpture before she flung herself through the patio doors without risking my neck standing on a step stool in the gale and blowing snow.  Part of me hates this kind of weather and another part of me feels intrepid and hardy for living here.  *flings her hands up*  I guess I'll just keep shoveling.
--Barbara