I ’m write this first blog with weather on my head , sneaking funny peeks at the lead and silver sky of a typical Puget Sound wintertime twenty-four hour period , wondering what Mother Nature and global mood modification will dish up next .
I do n’t sleep with about you , but our weather here has been crazy – not our common winter cloud and drizzle .
After an Indian Summer thwart us with sunshine and fortunate maple leave , we sunk into the usual November gloom and rainfall .
Then , in December ( generally gloomy / rainy ) , temperatures plummeted into the teens and much cold , slippery lily-white material fell from the sky – what folk music subsist on mountains and tundra call “ C. P. Snow . ”
Seriously , we do get snow here , too , but you would n’t acknowledge it from the way we drive in the snow ( poorly ) , or closemouthed schools at the drop of a snowbird .
It ’s just Baron Snow of Leicester falls so infrequently , then melts or washes away in the rain , never sticking around long enough for us to master driving in it .
But this wintertime the snow loiter , giving us our first really white Christmas , plus the playfulness experience of thwartwise - country skiing in our pastures , using two big manure piles as jumps .
Our ducks and chickens may have hat it , but my class and I loved how the snow covered up our farm ’s imperfections and turned the gray , sodden winter to a bright and sparkling one .
Despite some extra work like bucket water to critter , I much preferred the snowfall to what followed fast on its frosty heels : torrents of rainwater and rising rivers .
on the spur of the moment , instead of sleigh kids and sparkling nose candy , we saw sad images of flooded streets and place , the great unwashed weirdly kayaking through a drowned town .
Our crawl space swamp , the cesspit pump break ( my husband Brett barely managed to grease one’s palms another , whew ! ) , and , though know well , I drove our low - slung Subaru through a flooded section of land route to the billet office and back .
An oncoming hand truck forced me from the center line shoal into deeper water supply , where I thought for heart - thudding moments the flow would sweep my daughter Kelsey and me into a ( probably bottomless ) ditch . It did n’t , and we came safe out the other side , me cursing my thoughtless ( stubborn ? ) , forward momentum .
Now I ’m wonder , too , about how hard it is sometimes for we humans to stop , re - evaluate , and retreat even when we recognize going fore is a huge error .
Anyway , we get off easy compare to many , and one group on our branch really enjoyed the implosion therapy : our ducks .
desire you ’re all staying warm and dry , Cherie
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