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Category: snow

A Dusting

A Dusting

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If I blink I’ll miss it, but my part of northern Virginia is awakening to a dusting of snow on grass and cars. It will melt away as soon as it has a chance but it’s good to see it again, if only briefly.

Even as I write these words, I ask myself, why the excitement? Cold weather bothers me and I don’t like driving in snow.  The vague tingle has to be left over from childhood, the sudden gift of a day off school.

But there is more, too. Snow transforms; it softens the landscape, makes it otherworldly. There is wonder in that, and a release, too.

(This photo was taken a few years ago when there was considerably more accumulation — but it proves the point!)

Snowflake Spotting

Snowflake Spotting

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Snowflakes were spotted yesterday, and the temperature never rose about the “high” of 37 that greeted me when I woke up. It’s Arctic air, the weather people said, and I wonder: Does Arctic air feel colder than plain old winter air?

Today I’d have to say yes. That may be because it was 15 degrees when I woke up and there’s a stiff breeze out there, too. Emerging from the Crystal City Underground felt like a slap in the face. Even just a few hundred feet of exposure was enough to send me shivering inside.

But the sun is bright and a big old moon was still up this morning when I walked Copper across the frost-stiffened grass. We’re moving closer to solstice, so ’tis the season for shivering. Which is just what I’m doing now.

(Caution: Snowflakes in the window may be smaller — and less real — than they appear.)

Conversational Snow

Conversational Snow

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It’s March 9 and the daffodils have pushed themselves at least two inches through ground. But the ground is now covered … not in mulch but in snow.

Welcome to what the Capital Weather Gang calls “conversational snow.” This is white stuff that we talk about but do not fear. Snow that clings to trees and grass but not roads.

This snow fell yesterday but lingers today. Conversational? Yes. But not hardly whispered. Just ask the witch hazel tree (foreground), with its yellow blossoms all coated and frozen. It would like to change the conversation, I think. And it will have its chance. Tomorrow, we could hit 70!

Second Coat

Second Coat

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To live in the mid-Atlantic is to know snow that falls then melts, or is rained out of existence; in other words, snow that seldom lingers. That will happen to us tomorrow—but today, we’re being treated to a rare event: a second snowfall the refreshes the first.

It began late yesterday afternoon. At that point it was mostly just wetting the pavement. But as temperatures dropped overnight, the snow stuck, at least where I live. And now last Sunday’s snow, which was beginning to look old and tired and dirty, has a lovely second coat.

Once again, tree limbs are outlined in the white stuff, each tiny branch made softer and more significant with the addition. Deck rails are padded. Even the air seems filled with snow, though I think it is just fog, posing.

By Monday, I’m told, rains will have washed away all of our pretty snow and Arctic air will scour the landscape. But today it’s soft and white and pretty as a postcard.

Gimme Shelter

Gimme Shelter

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As the snow fell Sunday I glanced out the window to see a little bird fluttering in the azalea bush behind the house. I didn’t see it clearly enough to note the type, but it was probably one of the many flooding the feeder these days, a chickadee or junco. (Look closely at the opening center left and you’ll see its little head and eye.)

What a small, quivering thing it was, preening and rustling in the brush. Seeing it there made me remember fairy stories about animal homes in thickets or under ground and how as a child I could imagine nothing more exciting than exploring tucked-away places like that.

Now I consider the goal that all living things have, which is survival, and how difficult it can be this time of year. There I stood in the warmth of my house, with its insulation and forced air heat and hot water flowing from the tap.

Yes, a part of me wants to beat in the breast of that bird, to be part of the living landscape. But I know enough of cold and ice to appreciate the comforts I have, the comforts I share with other creatures, as a matter of fact, including … two birds.

Snow Day!

Snow Day!

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It snowed for more than 24 hours. It made lopsided lumps on the deck railings, slightly shorter where jays flicked their tails. The bamboo is hanging its head with the weight of all the white stuff, and the covered chairs have odd outlines on this first snow day of 2019.

Snow days have their own routine and rhythm. There is, first of all, the surprise of seeing a world transformed. Upstairs the shades are drawn, but downstairs the deck doors and windows bring the outside in. And it is a marvelously changed outside.

I was thinking this morning that even though I love summer best, no season transforms as winter does. Cars are covered, roads are covered (despite the plows and pre-treatment). No one is stirring. It is as if we’re holding our collective breaths.

Later on, I’ll tug on my boots and make my way to the street and newspaper. Later on, I’ll do a little shoveling and a little work. But for now, I’m sipping tea and taking it all in.

Dreams of Snow

Dreams of Snow

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Here in our nation’s capital, government shut-down talk is being supplanted by possible snowstorm talk. It’s not as if the area hasn’t already been in an odd limbo for weeks. Now we have 40-mile-an-hour winds and an increasing chance of snow tomorrow and Sunday.

All of which makes for a topsy-turvy day. 
For those of us not in federal employment, a couple of days off would be divine. But I doubt that will happen.
Until then … a girl’s gotta dream. 
(Photos courtesy of Snowmageddon, 2010.)
Early Snow

Early Snow

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There are still leaves on the trees, but that isn’t stopping the snow from falling. What was first billed as sleet and freezing rain has turned into snow that’s sticking on deck and railing, yard and street.

Roads, mostly untreated, are slick and getting slicker.

It will turn to rain later, they say. They being the Capital Weather Gang, my go-to weather source.  But they also said there wouldn’t be much accumulation, so I’m not believing them at the moment.

What I am believing is what I see from the warm confines of my living room. The snow is falling, and there may be a little sleet mixed in because it’s making a sound when it hits the ground. No silent snow, secret snow here. It’s early snow, loud snow.

Two-Hour Delay

Two-Hour Delay

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When I was a kid, you either had school or you did not. There was no in between. By the time I had children, the two-hour delay was well established.

In many ways it makes sense. Icy mornings often moderate, and two hours can make a big difference in the condition of roads and sidewalks. Having just driven to Metro on a day deemed too tricky for an on-time start, I can vouch that the county made the right call today.

But I can remember what a mess it was when the kids were young and school started at 11:05 rather than the (already late) 9:05. I could barely transcribe an interview before they were home again. And there’s something about the moral relativity of a two-hour delay that disheartens me. It’s mushy, especially when employed too often.

Perhaps that’s why I slogged into the office today. It was hard … but it was pure.

(We only got an inch of snow today; the photos is from 2010.) 

First Snow

First Snow

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This snow meant business right from the start, clinging to grass and trees and leaf piles. I thought, as I walked, how snow cover brings out the essential nature of a thing. A fence looks more fence-like, a flower pot more flower-pot-like.

It this because it’s accented in white? Or because the eye is trained in new directions?  Juncos have swooped in for seed and suet, and even, perhaps for the snow itself, flicking little bits of it as they peck. Are they drinking the snow or just moving it out of the way?

Questions without answers. On snow days, it’s enough just to wonder.