A Spec in Time Series

First snow of the season, it’s going to be big. The weather forecast said so, but that’s only modern say so. On the porch you look out to the northwest, far off, the wall is coming. Too far yet, but you can easily see the puffy billowing clouds. The edge of the wall, and it is heading straight towards your mountain ridge. The snow is always heavy here. You chose to live here partly because of this. The isolation is most complete only when it snows. The air carries the smell of snow. Its own particular smell. It doesn’t freeze your whole nose but speckles the inside of it, and your senses, like little dotted snowflakes. It is simultaneously the smell of wet and dry, musty, yet crisp. It is the smell of snow and it brings the start of a sideways smile across your face. The curl of steam from the coffee reaches that snow-sniffing speckled snout. The dog comes up the steps with tail a wag as joy exudes from his being. 

First stop is the neighbor’s house, she will need to go to the grocer too. There are always those last-minute needs before a storm like this. Heading down the mountain is not as fun as you would like it, speed must be modified, there is a passenger today. With food stuffs gathered, a plethora of neighbors are talked to; it is the usual pre-storm check-in. You know this will be a big storm, yet everyone must say it. It is the normal part of  ‘I see you, I expect to see you when we all dig out” pre-storm talk. It is worse on storms like this, there hasn’t been the usual slight snowfall to test the waters so to speak – no this first now is going to bury everyone under its heavy blanket of thick cold, wet down. Time to get back up the mountain, there is work to be done. 

The neighbor home and settled with her groceries, you leave knowing that she has ridden more of these out than you. After all, she went down a checklist of things you need to be doing before the storm hits. A list you have heard a million times. You ask if she needs help with any of the prep-list. As this conversation always goes; she says no, and sends you on your way. You smile getting back into the car thinking ‘what a tough old bird.’ Speaking of birds, there are things to do. 

The chains laid out as your dog zips in and out of the open jeep doors – his favorite game. A slow roll and bam it may have been a season but you still have it! Linked in no time. The vehicle of wintery transportation is backed into its cave and the trickly warmer is plugged in. Looking at the car you grumble – you might as well do it now, there will be no driving that for the next 4 months or more. Winterizing with dryer sheets – that always brings a laugh but hey, the old guys around here know what they know. Never a mouse have you found in all these years. 

It’s cold but still, you’re used to it. Moving the estimated amount of wood for three days and nights is a job.  No one wants to botch that calculation. You know to take it off the pile by the garage and move it to the pile under the deck. At night you really don’t want to go out past the shelter should you not have enough. Gloves, these are the most important part of your ensem, not slang you have used often since you moved here, not even in your head. But spiders, the occasionally sleeping snake, all manner of things live in there. No place to stick a hand in uncovered. Each piece of wood, carefully checked before the caring bag is full. Stumbling on a simple stone on the way toward the underdeck door. The wood stove is going, of course, you stack a few wood chunks in it and check the secondary hopper of pellets. As long as you’re doing things, follow her instructions and fill it up. How does she still do all of this at her age? It has been a question on your mind over the last few years. Yet she is and always has been ready for this. The grocery store was just her only need and she could have gotten by without it. After all, you now have jars of canned this and that as her thank you for the ride. Mostly it is a please stay alive juster. Her mother was like that too; a fond smile rolls through your whole body. Generator!

Wandering back out the door with the bounding puppy close at your heels, they turn into puppies no matter how old with even the possibility of snow. The amount of puppiness is a great indication as to how much snow. Fill with joy and never-ending energy. He is now six months old again. Breakers on, propane line checks, test crank – yep, all good here. 

Those tough old birds. Most of them are already in the coop as you bring in more hay to spread around. The automatic feeders that guy sold you down at the feed and seed many years ago have paid for themselves more than once. Filled with fresh batteries after fumbling with the first two – it is starting to get cold. A run back to the garage for a light bulb to replace that burnt-out one. The old rooster and a hen are tossed into a small cage, after taking some time to get all of the rest into the coup. Any that are stupid enough to still be hanging out in the trees… well the wolves need food too, as you drop the cage off by the woodpile. 

Shovels and show shoes are pulled off the wall of the garage and set on the deck and another shovel just inside the downstairs door. It always takes a bit to wipe all of the spider webs off of the snowshoes’ webs. A totally unnecessary thing to do, yet a ritual you started before realizing that important piece of time-saving information. Now just an idiosyncrasy that is part of your joy of the first big storm. Looking up once again you realize that your head has been down way too long, that dark bank of clouds is now close enough to hide the sun. It is not as late as it feels. It matters not, your job is done. 

The pop of the wine cork as the puller removed it from the tight grip of its bottle. No one else around here was doing this, something realized as the years here have moved on. An old habit, a fine Cab wafts forward as the smell of Coq au Vin in the pot fills the air. Another sniff of the wine as it flows into the decanter to breathe makes you snort and laugh aloud. A rarity not much is ever said out loud anymore, not unless you’re in town for those groceries, it catches you off guard a bit. No one here would even understand how to use a decanter, no need to with beer or shine. The latter being a new great favorite. You are now a connoisseur of moonshine to continue with old words. Mr. Late is responsible for that. Late’s is by far the best in the area, but Jimmy has him when it comes to peach shine. Yep, hands down. 

A ping against the window. It has started. 

Why the sleety stuff to start out with? What a slippery pain that will eventually be a physical pain as you slide and fall at some point. You fill your glass with the wine and join the dog at the sliding glass doors looking out over the treetops. They will become their own white mountainscape soon. You quickly look down and a sigh of relief, boots and tracks are on the mat. Back to the wine as the pellets of ice turn into snow. Does it matter: one inch per glass? The racial might need to be adjusted if you want to add more wood to the stove tonight before you pass out. 

With the dog out for one last time and the stove stacked, you head back upstairs to wash dinner dishes. One bottle for maybe every ten inches or so. Calculation is not happening, just rinse out the two sitting in the sink. Well, at least the ratio went down as the snow picked up.  It has been since last year so much wine has been consumed at one time. But you can’t waste a bottle like that, can you?

Climbing into bed, with a window cracked, heat rises after all. Sleep comes fast and hard. 

Finally you stir, all the puppy, puppy, puppy, is pouncing on you. Yes: yes as you slam the window shut. Who’s dumb idea was that? Oh yea, yours. Even had to push snow and get a towel to wipe it up. Your pit stop is first. It is still dark but that is only because the thick clouds of snow still hang over the mountains. This is a big one. You wonder if it is a sign of things to come. Your dog is flying across the snow and is now a white snowy mess as he leaps into a landing with the towel in your hands, another smile at his simple joy. 

Finally, the afternoon sun starts to shed its light through the clouds, and then like a great magic trick it spreads out over all to the sound of generator hum, you smile. Yes, you made the right choice. This is where I was meant to live.