I is for Ice

Not that one

After waiting anxiously for a couple of days, I watched the Major Winter Storm hit our region. I woke up on Sunday, January 25^th, to an indifferent snow cover. Hardly much at all. I was disappointed, having hoped to enjoy swirling snow all day, watching drifts pile up, and looking for a lull during which I could strap on my snowshoes and clump upslope for some winter fun.

Didn’t happen. At some point in the morning, the sleet started with crackling sounds on the sky lights. Two weeks later, the skylights are still covered. The sleet kept up all day. Our neighbor, who usually plows our 200-step, steep driveway, emailed us that his equipment wasn’t working correctly. We’d left one car at the bottom of our slope next to the road, but a plow clearing the road had piled a wall of heavy snow and ice at the foot of the driveway, blocking exit. A decade ago, we would have been out there with pickaxes clearing the berm, but we’re old enough now that we thought we’d wait until we could find someone with more energy to clear it. We hoped that neither of us needed an ambulance, which would have been unable to reach our house.

Calling around, it was obvious that everyone’s plowing service was booked. Oh well. I was convinced we’d lose power and the generator would kick in. That didn’t happen either. We’d told friends without generators to come here, a Warming Station, if they could get here, but no one needed refuge. We soon realized that the continuous sub-zero temps had turned our entire slope into an ice chute. There would be no snowshoeing. No building snow people. No throwing snowballs. Just ice. Deadly. The ice slope looked benign, but it certainly was not.

For nine days, I didn’t leave the slope, or even the house, except to stick my head out the door. During the following week, it took four days and multiple people with various types of machinery to eventually clear our driveway, make it possible to return our car to the garage, and enable us to leave the slope, theoretically. My husband left for provisions, but I didn’t venture out until Tuesday this week, when I attended an in-person memoir-writing group in our community. I co-lead it, so I felt obligated to attend. I was glad I did because we all needed to get out of our houses and share some stories.

Another storm warning popped up for the last day of January, but the event didn’t materialize, at least for us. The slope remains solid ice. Fortunately, the driveway is dry and good for walking. The extent of my outdoor exercise now is walking down to the mailbox and back up, toting boxes and envelopes. A skunk scent accompanies my walk. A few feet from the driveway lies the carcass of an unfortunate skunk that must have been dispatched by a desperate predator, one of the wild mammals inhabiting our forest. Burial will have to await spring. In the meantime, we are just here, waiting for a thaw. It’s been quite an unusual winter so far. And it’s only early February.