Let It Snow
And boy is it. Thankfully my elevation has been right at the snow line through this last series of Sierra storms, or we'd be completely stuck. We've had hours of rain, then hours of snow. It snowed a good eight or ten inches last night, still, and luckily the plow had come by once so I could shovel my wife's car out of the driveway and she made it to work (before dawn). She called a few minutes ago to tell me she was there; I feel better getting the call.
Because we live in a town where it snows occasionally during the winter, sometimes heavily, but work and go to church below snowline, we don't have snow tires on our subarus. (Without an all wheel or four wheel drive up here, forget it; I see those poor souls putting on chains on dangerous roadsides in heavy snows all the time and thank God we could afford new cars). We try to put good tires on and make sure they're pretty new when winter hits, but we don't have actual snow tires because they wear so quickly on pavement.
What all this means is that even though we have two subarus with their high tech all wheel drive computer driven whatevers (and I have no idea how these work) we still can slip and slide, even get stuck. If we can wait for a fresh plow track, great. But our street is plowed last and not often. So this morning, even with just a couple inches of snow and slush, S was slipping around a bit until she got the tires to bite and headed up the hill in the dark.
You can see why I like her to call me when she gets there. At least this morning it was hardly snowing; some mornings it's blowing like mad.
True, she could always call the hospital where she works and tell them they're going to have to wait to see her; I'd call for her. That has happened. But most days she's able to get in, as am I.
***
The beauty out my window right now is unearthly. The sun is just beginning to rise in the mountains; every branch in every tree is heavy with snow; there is more than a foot of powder in my front yard. In the dim light, with the sky overcast, it looks slightly blue, though it will soon be a brilliant white. And it's cathedral quiet. Snow absorbs sound. Powder muffles the world.
I believe it was Garrison Keillor (but it could have been someone else) who writes about a famous blue snow, the year of the amazing blue snow. Once, maybe our first winter here, it snowed even more than this. My Legacy was half-buried. And while I was shoveling out the berm left by the plow and the soft drifts behind it, I'd push my shovel into the snow and see blue light down inside. When I threw a shovelful of the stuff onto the pile, more blue light. I don't know what that was or how common that is, but it was amazing. A faint, sky blue glow inside the powder.
***
In the winter here, you carry a blanket, a small shovel, extra food and water, maybe spare gloves or rain pants, flares too, in the car all winter (I can only imagine what is required in Montana). We've never been stuck for long; a plow has always come by in an hour or two, and we've gotten our car off the road and back to our house. But some roads are not plowed, ever.
My mother lives in a truly isolated town not far from here. S and I took the back road out after visiting, one that runs through deep forest many miles from any building; it hadn't snowed in three weeks and the day was warm and beautiful. We left right around dark without telling my mom what we were doing. It's a lovely drive in summer. But we almost got stuck back there, more than once, in snow and ice still piled onto low spots in the road. And it would have been a long walk, maybe six miles, to the nearest travelled mountain road, also unplowed but with more traffic and the possibility of a ride. We would have spent the night in the car of course and left at first light, but if we hadn't found anyone on the larger road, it was a good dozen miles further to the lake not far from my house where people actually live. We didn't even have extra food or water with us. That would have been a long walk, and a long blog. Luckily, we scooted out (at one point, sliding down hill with my brake pedal completely pressed) and now we're careful to let someone know if we're going anywhere unplowed like that (and that road, which right now is probably buried under five feet of snow, is off limits till June!)
You do read in the local paper about people getting stuck, and found; I've talked to a couple people who've spent nights in their vehicles. But some of the back roads up here...if you were caught in a big enough storm you'd be fortunate if a snowmobiler ran over your luggage rack before you froze. The Sierra is full of fire roads, logging roads, recreation roads, which will never see a plow and are not even paved.
Of course we do little of this; our subarus aren't anything like the monster rubicon jeeps I see up here all the time. I do check the weather, almost obsessively. Most people up here do in winter; it's a local hobby as I suppose it is most places that get snow.
For the Sierras are hard to predict: it may be sunny and warm (relatively, 50's say) for two weeks in winter and then wham! The mountain freezes solid.
***
This has been a long blog and I don't want to edit it, try to work with the diction or phrasing and make it sound pretty. It's now 7:30, I'm tired and the sun is fully up and I need to build a fire and eat. Mikey, of course, is still fast asleep. Thank you for reading, those of you who got this far. It truly is a gift, to be able to jot down my thoughts at any hour and be heard.
Blessings to all.
Because we live in a town where it snows occasionally during the winter, sometimes heavily, but work and go to church below snowline, we don't have snow tires on our subarus. (Without an all wheel or four wheel drive up here, forget it; I see those poor souls putting on chains on dangerous roadsides in heavy snows all the time and thank God we could afford new cars). We try to put good tires on and make sure they're pretty new when winter hits, but we don't have actual snow tires because they wear so quickly on pavement.
What all this means is that even though we have two subarus with their high tech all wheel drive computer driven whatevers (and I have no idea how these work) we still can slip and slide, even get stuck. If we can wait for a fresh plow track, great. But our street is plowed last and not often. So this morning, even with just a couple inches of snow and slush, S was slipping around a bit until she got the tires to bite and headed up the hill in the dark.
You can see why I like her to call me when she gets there. At least this morning it was hardly snowing; some mornings it's blowing like mad.
True, she could always call the hospital where she works and tell them they're going to have to wait to see her; I'd call for her. That has happened. But most days she's able to get in, as am I.
***
The beauty out my window right now is unearthly. The sun is just beginning to rise in the mountains; every branch in every tree is heavy with snow; there is more than a foot of powder in my front yard. In the dim light, with the sky overcast, it looks slightly blue, though it will soon be a brilliant white. And it's cathedral quiet. Snow absorbs sound. Powder muffles the world.
I believe it was Garrison Keillor (but it could have been someone else) who writes about a famous blue snow, the year of the amazing blue snow. Once, maybe our first winter here, it snowed even more than this. My Legacy was half-buried. And while I was shoveling out the berm left by the plow and the soft drifts behind it, I'd push my shovel into the snow and see blue light down inside. When I threw a shovelful of the stuff onto the pile, more blue light. I don't know what that was or how common that is, but it was amazing. A faint, sky blue glow inside the powder.
***
In the winter here, you carry a blanket, a small shovel, extra food and water, maybe spare gloves or rain pants, flares too, in the car all winter (I can only imagine what is required in Montana). We've never been stuck for long; a plow has always come by in an hour or two, and we've gotten our car off the road and back to our house. But some roads are not plowed, ever.
My mother lives in a truly isolated town not far from here. S and I took the back road out after visiting, one that runs through deep forest many miles from any building; it hadn't snowed in three weeks and the day was warm and beautiful. We left right around dark without telling my mom what we were doing. It's a lovely drive in summer. But we almost got stuck back there, more than once, in snow and ice still piled onto low spots in the road. And it would have been a long walk, maybe six miles, to the nearest travelled mountain road, also unplowed but with more traffic and the possibility of a ride. We would have spent the night in the car of course and left at first light, but if we hadn't found anyone on the larger road, it was a good dozen miles further to the lake not far from my house where people actually live. We didn't even have extra food or water with us. That would have been a long walk, and a long blog. Luckily, we scooted out (at one point, sliding down hill with my brake pedal completely pressed) and now we're careful to let someone know if we're going anywhere unplowed like that (and that road, which right now is probably buried under five feet of snow, is off limits till June!)
You do read in the local paper about people getting stuck, and found; I've talked to a couple people who've spent nights in their vehicles. But some of the back roads up here...if you were caught in a big enough storm you'd be fortunate if a snowmobiler ran over your luggage rack before you froze. The Sierra is full of fire roads, logging roads, recreation roads, which will never see a plow and are not even paved.
Of course we do little of this; our subarus aren't anything like the monster rubicon jeeps I see up here all the time. I do check the weather, almost obsessively. Most people up here do in winter; it's a local hobby as I suppose it is most places that get snow.
For the Sierras are hard to predict: it may be sunny and warm (relatively, 50's say) for two weeks in winter and then wham! The mountain freezes solid.
***
This has been a long blog and I don't want to edit it, try to work with the diction or phrasing and make it sound pretty. It's now 7:30, I'm tired and the sun is fully up and I need to build a fire and eat. Mikey, of course, is still fast asleep. Thank you for reading, those of you who got this far. It truly is a gift, to be able to jot down my thoughts at any hour and be heard.
Blessings to all.
Comments
On a side note, on my MSN homepage I have the daily weather stats for all the locations of my blogger family. I woke this morning, checked some email and the weather. I hoped to hear that you and Sherry would get some snow. Down in here in SoCal the best I can hope for is to have to put on my heavy coat and grab an umbrella, though I hardly use one even when it is raining. Perhaps God is prerpping me for a relocation to the PNW after all. Oh well. Thanks for sharing this. Peace, brother.