This post was supposed to be titled, ‘Winter Wonderland’. It
was envisioned as a full-throated, self-congratulatory, thousand-word essay
about being environmentally conscious even as you deal with the reality of snow-swept
New England winter landscapes.
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| Medfield was supposed to be squarely in the 'jackpot zone' |
Instead, I’m reduced to distantly remembering I used to gladly
pay a dime at my local 7-11 on hot days to slurp a cupful of the stuff I’m now
shoveling; except, back then, it was enhanced by a squirt of sickly-sweet fruit syrup.
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We had been promised this snow
for three days |
You see, we had a nor’easter last evening and today.
The same winter storm (they have names now,
this one was Octavia) that drenched California and fouled travel across the
Midwest, re-formed itself as a low-pressure system off the East Coast and
dumped a foot and a half of snow on unsuspecting Queens.
Octavia then sets its sights on New
England.
As late as 5 p.m., as flakes
were starting to fall at the Connecticut-Massachusetts border, the National
Weather Service still showed Medfield as squarely in the center of the
‘jackpot’ zone of 12” to 18” of snow.
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| Abigail jumping at snowflakes |
I am ready for that kind of a snowfall.
For somebody who did not see snow until he
was twenty years old, I have adapted rather well to the notion that
precipitation can come frozen.
I topped
off the gas in our snow blower, positioned it at the front of the garage door, and settled
in for an evening of the kind of satisfied anticipation that comes with being
well-prepared.
The snow arrived along
with gale-force winds, turning trees into works of art.
Our ten-month-old, Florida-born cat, Abigail,
jumped excitedly at the snowflakes falling on the outside of the living room window, unable to comprehend what was going on outside.
At about 9 p.m., Betty tilted her head and said, “that sounds
like rain.”
“Nonsense,” I replied, with the confidence of someone who
believes an army of forecasters armed with the infallible European Weather Model cannot
possibly get things even a little wrong.
But I, too, heard the tinkling sound of raindrops against the
windows. I went to the Weather Channel
website and saw the three-hour 'up-until-now' loop of solid snow overwhelming southern New
England; getting darker blue by the second.
But I also saw something disturbing: the rain-snow line that was
supposed to be solidly anchored on Cape Cod was, instead, stealthily advancing ever further into
the mainland.
I tapped the ‘future’ button.
Sure enough, we were turning green. The loop showed Medfield had nothing
but rain in its future. Somewhere, 30,000 feet over our heads, the gremlins
controlling the storm's steering currents had decided to have a joke at my expense. Except, to
me, it wasn’t going to be one bit funny.
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| No asphalt, just a stone driveway |
At this point, you are probably wondering to yourself,
What’s
the big deal? Be happy it isn’t all that snow!
The first problem is, our property isn’t equipped to deal with
wet, heavy snow.
Six years ago, when we were planning our ‘dream retirement
house’, we went all-in on creating a home that would be one with nature. No grass lawn, no invasive plants or trees,
and nothing that would cause excess water to roll off our property and into the
town’s storm drains. To meet that last requirement, we eschewed the idea of
your standard asphalt driveway in favor of one made of crushed stone, held in place by
decorative granite curbing. Rain water, rather than rolling down the gentle
slope of the driveway to the street, would instead pass through the stone and
soak into the subsoil, recharging the reservoir of moisture for our garden.
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I mounted our snow
blower on skis |
And, if it snowed, I was ready: I retro-fitted a pair of
Rossignol skis onto our hardy snow blower so the maw of the machine coasted
half an inch above the driveway and sidewalk surface.
It is, if I can allow myself a moment of
immodesty, a stroke of genius. I may even patent it one of these days.
The second problem is, there hasn’t been a snow blower made
that can deal with water-soaked snow.
Put any model out on a driveway, fire it up, and watch as the icy residue dribbles
out of the blower like an 18-month-old disgorging unwanted Gerber’s Squash
Delight.
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An asphalt driveway can be
scraped clean in minutes
|
A homeowner with an asphalt driveway can pick up the phone,
call some Guy with a Snow Plow on His Pickup Truck, and pay whatever extortion
is demanded. I don’t have that option: a conventional snow plow will simply
take off a cubic yard or two of crushed stone along with the snow, and deposit
it either out on the street or in our perennial beds. (And don’t give me that
‘Oh, the snow plow operator can keep the blade up a couple of inches’ stuff.
The Guy with a Snow Plow on His Pickup Truck has a laser-like focus on the goal of being in and out of
your driveway in three minutes, with his pockets stuffed with enough cash to
take the family to Disney World.)
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| The snow was water-soaked |
This morning at 6:30 a.m., I went outside in drizzling rain to survey the
scene.
The gremlins controlling the
steering currents were slapping their knees with laughter.
While safely-inland Wilmington, Massachusetts recorded twenty inches of white, powdery snow; Medfield had six inches of snow
permeated with at least an inch of water.
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| A gift from the town |
And,
of course, down at the intersection of the driveway and the street, the
Medfield Highway Department had thoughtfully deposited a ten-foot-wide,
three-foot deep, and two-foot-high plug of pure ice. All of it had to be moved... by hand.
We call it ‘heart attack snow’. Every shovelful weighs about thirty pounds.
You move it for an hour and then your right arm goes numb. Cue the EMTs.
Betty took the sidewalk and an area immediately in front of
the garage. I first removed the plug of
ice and then started up the 90-foot-long driveway, being careful to leave a
skim of ice/snow on top of the
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| The finished driveway, a crust of snow |
crushed rock. Two hours later, we had a clean
sidewalk and a wide-enough passage that we can get our cars out into the world
if needed.
As Kermit the Frog once reminded us, ‘It isn’t easy being
green’.
I would add it is definitely hard work sometimes.
And maybe even good exercise.
