Okay, people, really. Seriously. It's only the first week of April. I'm loving all the complaining about the snow we are having. I will admit, that shit is heavy as hell. It starts snowing Friday, turns to rain, then starts snowing again on Saturday. Shoveling? I might as well be lifting cement.
So I give up and head out wine tasting and rum sipping, instead. The roads are clear even as the snow piles up on land.
Sunday, though, the temperature soars quickly. A hopeful trek into the woods for snowshoeing is a bust because the snow that initially clings to the branches is now falling off like hand grenades. The tufts of puffy white coldness that look so charming in the morning sun are dropping from above and smashing everything underneath like freaking Dresden.
So much for beauty and majesty of winter.
A giant tree-launched snowball smacks the top of my car so loudly that I suspect there is a huge dent there now. A ball of snow rolls from the roof of the house and lands on the porch behind me while we are sitting outside. The ensuing explosion sends water and snow so high into the air from impact that I actually get water sprayed into my face, hair, and right ear. The roof of the house continues to melt so fast it is like rain pouring down, as if there is a new water feature in the yard. Luckily, we are inside when the snow starts to let loose in larger batches, and we are somewhat afraid that the entire roof-load will come down and prevent us from leaving the house. (Except that there are several other exits, but that ruins the dramatic effect.)
No matter. It's snow, and it's New England, and this is what we do. For all the complaining, we love it. We'd be lying to say otherwise. If you live here and truly hate the snow, you might consider moving for real.
And it would be a nice thought to believe spring is here in earnest, but please do not be foolish. This is, after all, New England. A mid-April blizzard is not out of the norm for us.
For now, I'll enjoy how pretty it all is, wait for it to do a quick melt, and know in my darkest heart that this may not be (and probably won't be) the end of it this season.
Dang, though, this one really is a beaut -- if only the falling missiles didn't hurt so damn much.
