This week brought a Nor’Easter our way with winds that really packed a wallop.
I admit that I love blizzards. Even as an adult, they still give me the guilty pleasure of a snow day off of school. There’s just something about being snowed in with nothing to do but watch the weather that appeals to me.
The day before we check the cupboards and pantry to make sure we have what we need in case we get storm-stayed longer than one day. I bake something tasty as a storm treat and my husband makes a big pot of soup or stew that can be warmed on the woodstove if the power goes out.
Extra firewood is stacked in the entryway and lanterns come down from the closet shelf. The generator is checked and kept at the ready. Books and projects are decided on.
Finally, we feel ready for the storm.
It starts slowly. Over breakfast coffee we watch the first flakes come down faster and faster. Things soon grow white outside. We take the dog for a long walk, knowing he prefers to sleep by the fire during bad weather.
I settle in my usual spot to watch the show. Through the north windows, the Bay grows wilder, with waves crashing against the wharf and cliffs. Out the east windows, the road quickly disappears. Not many will venture up the North Mountain today to our little village. Only the snowplow and he won’t come until much later.
The wind picks up steadily throughout the afternoon and by evening it’s lashing noisily against the house. But we have nowhere to go and no need to be anywhere but right here.
I check on friends through social media. We share photos of the storm and what we are doing. Even in the isolation there is a sense of connection. As the wind grows wilder the power flickers a lot but doesn’t fail. Our friends in the Valley are not so lucky.
Around bedtime, we notice it’s grown quiet. The wind has shifted to the west and it’s losing strength.
We wake up to blue skies and bright sunshine. Doubly bright as the sun reflects off the snow. My husband shovels the paths and driveway and cleans off the car. Life returns to its usual routines.
Writing in my journa,l I try to capture in words what it is I love so much about storm days but it eludes me. I just know it’s related to the power of nature, feeling safe and protected in this old house of ours and being together.
For one day, we played hooky and who doesn’t love that?