Lane clearance
The snow, last night, was hardly substantial. Enough to renew interest in snowshoes, without forcing the need. We did close the schools, but that seems to happen without any particular motivation. A budget line. And this way, we know where everyone is, in the morning. Sleep soundly. I might check the deck for accumulation, but I haven’t found the inspiration just yet.
Does anyone (else) get their lane cleared on a regular basis? Of snow, I mean. We don’t do mudslides of tumbleweed around here. In this part of the world, somebody always knows someone that can do that hob. A close neighbour, or a close friend, or a close relative. In our case we have two brothers that spell each other off, and I won’t give you their names because they are a valuable asset. If it fell to me and my shovel, after a snowstorm, we would be back in the last century. On foot.
Back to the top. I do keep track of the plow visits, because it aids in comparing the severity of a winter to previous years. We don’t have fence line, and an open field offers no perspective. Just white, with an occasional fox hunting for breakfast. Right now, the ocean is mainly free of ice, because fishing season isn’t that far away, and ice moves away at its own speed. I pondered how things went back in my grandparent’s time, and quickly realized that they just didn’t go anywhere in winter. Other than out to the outhouse or woodpile. Or both. Simpler times.
