Tag Archives: Snow

Effie, Baroness of Barrenness

Another day, another snowstorm, complete with another heavy wet snow atop Effieland, again leaving Effie’s romping ground without overhead security from raptors. The weighty snow sank the overhead birdnetting, detaching it from the posts and frame to which it had been secured. We have decided it’s time to replace the plastic birdnetting with metal wire. For nothing she has done, Effie is grounded indoors for now until my husband can resecure the top of Effie’s pleasant playground.

p1020499“Things are not looking good for a day of romping and sporting in my own dominion. . .”

 

p1020501“Sigh and alas, maybe tomorrow. . .”

I’ve put a new calming collar on her. . . .

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Snow casualty in Effieland

I woke to a terrifying crash in our back yard–in Effieland–at slightly past 2:00 this morning. I reached for Effie–she was still on our bed, and alert. Of course she was not outside in a crash; she is never out at night.

My husband would have slept through the crash, but for my gently urgent “Didn’t you hear that?!” query. We looked out the window; it was dark, but there was sufficient light from porch lights on the hill above us, and residual light from the night sky.

Large, wet snowflakes fell steadily. We could see the net ceiling hanging down, covered with a heavy accumulation of snow. My husband pulled on outdoor gear and went out to investigate the damage.

He found a lot of snow still clinging to the sagging netting. More net had been pulled to the ground and buried in snow.

The net ceiling secures Effie from raptors, as well as from climbing predators, such as coyotes, foxes, cougars, dogs, and mean-spirited cats who might envy Effie’s provision.

I got up and made my tea for the day (usually it’s coffee, but today was somehow on track for tea) and poured it in my quart thermos. Effie was pouty she couldn’t be outdoors, but she ate some fresh food and hung out with me until we all returned to bed.

At the reasonable hour of 5:50 a.m., we were up and immersed in our routines. After breakfast, it took my husband about an hour and a half to get all the fallen snow off the netting and all the fallen netting back up.

All is well in Effieland. I am thankful for our dynamic seasons and for my husband’s resourcefulness. And I pray for sufficient provision and peaceful lives for the rest of the world.

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Night snow

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Falling snow should upend the beholder’s belief in calculability. . . .

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Snow light

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Just home from a Walmart trek, I was rewarded with the sight of light and shadows dancing on a stage of new snow.

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From the sky. . .

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Chasing, tracing, great-big-wet-sloppy-Snoopy kisses SNOW is falling!

(For some reason known only to light fanatics, the snowflakes appear black in my photo.)

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Reflections and snow

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A fair amount of snow fell for rather a long time; the temperature remained below freezing, and so we have a lot of snow. The road to the road on which our house is situated, and our driveway, are for now inaccessible without 4WD or chains. Happily, our vehicles meet these requirements superbly well, and I am thankful they do, because I find it a grand thing to possess the means to come home.

Our church had two imminently expectant mothers until Friday, when one delivered her beautiful daughter nine days “late,” as humans rather faithlessly calibrate these things—and the other delivered her beautiful daughter nine days “early.” Both arrived the same day, 13 hours apart—an amazing providential convergence.

My husband preached for our two services this morning while our pastor filled in for a colleague west of the Cascades. Our deacons are the husband and grandpa of one of the new moms, and both were out of town at the birthing center. My husband left early to help set things up, and we drove separately so I would not have to hang out, feeling conspicuously useless.

Despite having a superior-being car, I dislike driving in snow. It isn’t really the snow that generates my angst so much as the potentially lethal projectiles known in common parlance simply as “other drivers.”

My husband’s sermon caught me more off guard than even the other drivers with whom I had shared slush tracks a little earlier. His text was Hebrews 10:21-36, and he used Bunyan’s motif of the man in the iron cage to point us to the inescapable necessity of asking for what we require: God’s forgiveness.

Two things for which I often fail to ask forgiveness are, first, complaining about the hard tests awarded to me for my growth and sanctification; and second, for inexcusably poor performance on my tests. Like Jonah, I want it easy; I don’t want the “reward” the greater trial would bring. Jonah would have been happy hanging out under his little shade plant, enjoying a simple life. He didn’t get that God had something much greater for him: the honor of preaching to 120,000 Ninevites God had reserved for salvation.

In no way do I mean to suggest that I have been set aside for something grandiose or special! Each of us, at our own level, invariably under-performs. Sin makes this inevitable. The man in the iron cage points us to the need to ask forgiveness of our sin: for rejecting God’s right to assign us duties, and for callous disregard in performing our assigned duties faithfully, well, and without complaint.

It was a lot to think about, driving home on melting snow, conscious that to several hundred people over the next twenty minutes, I would be an “other driver.”

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First snow… and ongoing et ceteras

I peeked around the blinds just after dawn this morning and actually felt joy at seeing the season’s first snow. Life becomes easier; everyone understands people do what they can: snow somehow is an acceptable limitation that is permitted to thwart expectations.

I wish that chronic illness that comes with frequently incapacitating pain and fatigue were understood as well as snow.

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Filed under People, Places, & Things

Snow jobs

I think the more beautiful place is, the more beautiful it is in the snow. Last night, as I was printing our year-end letters for our friends who have discovered life without computers — or at least, never discovered life with them — my printer’s cartridge became depleted, and my husband and I headed down the hill to Wal-Mart, in our first Valley snow. Certainly I’ve spent most of the years of my life where snow was an expected fact of nature, but it is nonetheless a wondrous and mysterious thing, especially one’s first snow in a new place, when the season’s first snow falls. I always think that the large windblown flakes resemble a meteor shower as we drive through them. Parenthetically, we missed this year’s Leonid meteor shower, to which I had looked forward with some optimism of a clear sky, but the clear night always gave way to predawn clouds. This morning, the hills were beautifully dusted with snow; now, the clouds and hills are of a piece, fused in uniform whiteness.

My husband wouldn’t be who he is if he didn’t get up on the roof in the snow to extend a drain vent. And since the temperature is supposed to hit -3° tomorrow, he was under the house checking all the pipes, and decided to wrap one, the main, that would normally be fine to 0°. My snowy day task was to go to the drugstore and grocery store in my ridiculous overstuffed winter gear that I never otherwise get to wear. It was 28°, hardly very cold: T-shirt weather to a veteran of 16 Montana winters; but cold and arthritis can compromise my pioneer self-concept.

When my husband finishes the snow jobs, he will begin nailing more wood floors in place — likely the hall outside my study — and I will need to select an evacuation route. As much as I would love to see the snow-glazed Valley from the Old Spiral Highway, I do not think I will brave the drive. I do well enough in tame captivity, like the library.

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