It’s been kind of crazy winter here in the greater Boston area. We’ve gotten just a little bit of snow so far this season.
The photo below is of an 18th-century cemetery behind our house. The stone wall that you can see in the middle of the photo? That’s about 6 feet tall. Tombstones haven’t been visible since mid-January now.
These frightening-looking icicles are in fact a homeowner’s nightmare, as they’ve created ice dams in our gutters… so now we have icicles IN our windows inside our house. Meltwater is draining through the walls of our house and occasionally into our house. It’s a grand time.
Larry has been a champ: shoveling and snow blowing the hell out of our driveway. Two recent challenges: 1) Our snow blower committed suicide and ate its own power cord. 2) There’s no where left to put the snow.
In this next photo, you can normally see our patio here with a 6-foot stone wall all the way in the back, a grill, and a table and chairs, oh and a 4-foot high picket fence right in the front. We’ve seen none of these things since mid-January. For reference: the snow pile on the right, with the banana? That’s standing at about 10 feet tall now. Behind it: a 4 to 6 foot snowdrift solid to the stone wall.
I’ve been casually referring to this part of our property as the “sea of unadulterated bullshit.”
With each subsequent storm, it’s taken a toll on the region’s collective psychological state. I feel like with each new storm, we go through another stage of grief, mourning the loss of a normal winter or even simpler things like cleared walkways and unobstructed sight lines when pulling out from 10-foot tall snowbank flanked streets.
Denial: “There’s no way it’s going to snow for a second Monday in a row! They’re probably just hyping up this storm. We can’t possibly get another 2 feet of snow again so soon!”
Anger: “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me it’s going to snow for a third Monday in a row. There oughta be a law against it! This is a crime of nature!”
Bargaining: “Oh G-d please, please, please let this afternoon’s snow storm be mild. Please let us only get like, 6 inches. We just can’t handle any more snow. I’ll do anything to keep it from snowing more!”
Depression: “There is only the bleak barren whiteness of snow. I know nothing else now, only snow. There is no end. There is no hope. Only snow.”
Acceptance: “Another snowstorm Tuesday night. Yeah. Okay. Whatever. Probably should put some gas in the car and get some more bread and milk at the store.”
I don’t think I’ve ever yearned for spring as much as I have now.