This blog is an attempt to fully understand myself and admit that I actually am a high-maintenance person. I have been in denial for about 30 years about who I truly am. I’m sorry. Please forgive my rant.
I always talk about how small our town is… I just figured out why… people don’t live here because about this time of year, it gets difficult! Very difficult!
I’ve decided Rochester, Vermont isn’t a real place. This snowy land is a snow globe on some bored child’s dresser. He shakes it at night before bed, and we citizens of this post card town wake up to lovely flakes flittering from the cloudy sky every morning. I believe it to be true. It is unreal how much snow we have as part of daily life here for MOST of the year. I’m looking out the window now. It’s coming down now AGAIN. As I watch, it’s dancing and covering my car in its daily layer of powdered sugar.
Normally doors are frozen shut and people get snowed in. Not us. It was worse this week for us… it was a tough week.
Last Saturday, we left our snowy mountain valley to go to the big city of Burlington, Vermont. Just as we drove about a mile north of our town, tiny snowflakes started to dance in the sky. “It’s just snow showers,” my husband and I reassured each other. It snows every day.
It does. We’ll be fine… ha… ha… please insert a wicked laugh here…
Snow is a four letter word. Don’t get me wrong. It’s pretty and can be fun too. But after it piles up for months, where do we put it all? How do we deal as the paths become narrower?
There are people who actually make a living removing snow around here. They shovel walks, plow driveways, and push snow off of people’s roofs. It took ten men eight hours to remove the snow from the top of the school this week. That made for a wonderful learning environment in kindergarten as the snow blower went back and forth on top of us. I wondered if it would fall on us. In hind sight, I should have hired one of those men from the roof at school to clear the roof over our deck at home. But I’ll get to that soon…
People who don’t know snow think there is only one type. This particular snow was the best snow for a snowball fight. It was just the right consistency. A person (like me for example) could grab a bunch and crush it instantly into a ball with minimal effort. It didn’t hurt to be hit by one of these snowballs. They were easy to make and even easier to throw. In fact, I hit both my kids and my husband in the head, and they laughed about it and in turn hit me in the head. Good snow! Great fun! The battle we had lasted at least twenty minutes. We were soaked and laughing by the end. Our dinner post snowball fight was warm and delicious. On the way to the restaurant, my oldest son kept hitting us with snowballs.
We of course realized last Saturday, that this wasn’t just snow showers at all; we couldn’t read the snow covered street signs. I couldn’t see to drive as the snow fell off the car roof and obstructed my view. It was a serious snowstorm. We didn’t expect that the weather was going to be so treacherous. The snow changed texture as the air changed temperature. A few hours after the snowball fight and dinner, we were driving home no faster than 35 miles per hour on Route 89 in icy conditions. We took our time.
Along the way, we actually saw “snow lightning”. It exists! I have never seen it! Have you? Its bright blue light reflected off the snow and lit up the mountains as we crawled along. It was actually lovely when it flashed. I felt honored in a way. I’ll always cling to that visual memory because it was gorgeous and dramatic. Apparently, some people live their entire lives and never see “snow lightning”. Cool, huh? Yep.
Until it changes to a different consistency again… which in Vermont can happen every ten minutes or so…
We arrived home at about midnight and our driveway hadn’t been plowed yet. The snow had certainly changed. It was now soft on the inside and crunchy on the surface. Each step we took toward the house UPHILL, our feet sunk and stuck about a foot in. The kids were disoriented because they had fallen asleep in the car and had to be led to bed. Insert sigh here…
Upon entering the house, it seemed cold, but I thought it was because we were damp from the storm.
Nope.
We had run out of oil in our furnace. Oops. Insert another sigh here…
Now, to our defense, our furnace is in the basement and the bulkhead to the basement is covered with snow. We are supposed to check the level of the oil and let the company know when it is time to come and fill it. Oops. And trust me, I just don’t think of things like that. I probably should, but there are so many other things to think about, you know? And we can heat the house with our wood-stove. And we’re not calling them to bring oil on the weekend. Too expensive! We’ll call on Monday… famous last words…
So to recap the week, we went without heat and hot water for FIVE NIGHTS AND FOUR days, my husband dealt with his second flat tire, struggled to close his car door because it was frozen OPEN, and we shoveled our way INTO the house (the snow slid off the mudroom roof onto the deck one day). Yes. Winter is bliss.
We (my husband) called on Monday to have the guys come with the Texas Tea… black Gold… oil… They couldn’t come. They were busy. They never came on Tuesday… ahhhh… we finally got our water back and our furnace primed and flushed out (or whatever) on Thursday.
And I NEED HOT WATER TO BE A GRATEFUL AND PLEASANT PERSON… can you tell? High-maintenance. Yep- that’s me.
Each day through the week, I felt grimier because I hadn’t showered… Snow is good… I chanted… snow is good. But I felt cranky…
On Tuesday, I took my class snowshoeing for the first time. Snow is good…
As the days wore on, my hair clung to itself… snow is good…
As my skin began to feel slimy, I watched the many sleds flying down the hill behind the school and kids shrieking with joy. Snow is good…
As the week wore on, I felt pretty haggard. My friend Claudia stopped her car in the parking lot and rolled down her window.
“Hey!” She smiled cheerfully.
“Hello.” I half grumbled.
“You look nice.” She said sweetly.
“What?” I snapped. I couldn’t take it anymore. I spilled it all right there and then. I couldn’t possibly look nice! I hadn’t bathed in days.
She invited me to use her bathtub that night. “We have hot wata!” She said in her New York accent. Now she has a HUGE antique claw foot tub; I have wanted to take a bath in that thing since I first saw it a year ago at her daughter’s birthday party. Okay, I’m weird… but have you ever taken a bath in a HUGE antique claw foot tub? Has your friend Claudia ever given you a glass of white wine to sip casually as you soaked in her HUGE antique claw foot tub? Winter is bliss…
Try it sometime. Especially after you haven’t felt hot water against your skin for days… snow is good… hot water is good… my glass of wine was half-full and life suddenly got better as it emptied.
See, as I sat there in the hot water at Claudia’s house and reflected on my week, I realized something. We adults forget how fun snow can be because we have to work so hard to maintain things. We have to shovel it and move it off bulk-heads and scrape it from our car windows. We have to scrape it from roofs or snow will collapse on pathways and break the roof rake (yep), and give chickens warm water every morning. We have to stack the firewood in preparation and stoke the fire to warm our Vermont homes. We have to drive slowly and carefully. I realized that my body was probably aching a little bit. No wonder I was cranky. A hot bath soothes the muscles too.
I closed my eyes and relived our family snowball fight. I remembered how nicely the snow packed in my gloved hands. I thought of my class and their little smiles as we crossed the deep white stuff for the first time in our snowshoes without sinking to our hips. I thought of the “snow lightning”. Certainly I wouldn’t have seen “snow lightning” without snow, right? Snow is good… in fact, it’s great!
So now I’ve come to admit it… I am a high-maintenance woman. I ask a whole lot. I need a HUGE antique claw foot bath tub filled with steaming hot water and a glass of white wine. After my skin had turned red, I pulled the drain and listened to the gurgle. The drain took all my troubles away. Ahhh…
Sorry… I am who I am. I need hot water. Now I’m ready for another week. And now it’s just five more weeks until spring, according to the damn groundhog. Oh, but that would be in Pennsylvania. In Vermont, we have to double it, because mud season has to come first, you know? Stay tuned…
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