It felt a little like The Shining around here this week—a foot and a half of snow outside, no hope of ever seeing a snow plow on Meredith Lane, and the whole neighborhood glistening like the grounds of the Overlook Hotel. Luckily, we've not yet lost our minds and the most murderous thing I did this week was accidentally shovel a worm in two while setting post piers.
The barn project is temporarily on hold pending an improvement in the weather, but it's still on my mind every day. It could be that I'll fail in conveying to you just how excited I am, but I'll try. Imagine this: I can go out and visit the livestock at any hour of the day or night and stand inside a sheltered, lighted building. My tack and grooming equipment will be readily at hand, under the same roof. The mule and goats will dine upon hay which is stored in the very same building. Our front porch, which has served as our hay and tack repository, will be a vast canvas of blank possibility. (This is my poetic way of describing a room vastly in need of remodeling or, more likely, tearing off and replacing.)
Mr. Puddle Run is back at work after two days off due to impassable roads. He took the F250, as his wonderful little Toyota is up to its eyebrows in the snow. D is here, on day three of school cancellations, and M is in Seattle with her father. Schools there are also closed. The animals are staying comfortable enough, though Clover isn't a huge fan of this cold snap we're having. She likes her snow at 30 degrees and fluffy. 12° F and crisp? Not so much.
Further thoughts on the weather: when it snows, it melts. When it melts, it floods. We're due to get a solid week or more of heavy rains, and I expect this means we can kiss Park Road goodbye (again). Rt. 9 will surely flood just north of the general store, as it always does, and Rt. 9 south will probably wash out but be passable in our bigger truck. That's the general pattern, and I'm glad we have hay and groceries to last a while. I'm not worried about Bent Barrow Farm getting wet: though we border the Samish River one side, we border a deeply-carved railway on the other. The two meet about a half mile north of our property, meaning the railroad serves as an accidental canal in times of flooding.
A state of emergency has officially been declared this morning by the governor of Washington, which makes me grateful for the relative calm in Wickersham. We've had no significant trouble in the grand scheme of things.
Enjoy the weather, whatever yours may be, and take this lesson: always store more hay and food than you think you need.