“I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.” Dylan Thomas
Walking to work one morning this week I noticed the silence after yet another 12 or 20 inch snowfall overnight. It was as if everyone had given up bothering to shovel themselves out and just rolled over in bed.
I thought about how this will be a winter we’ll talk about for years to come – the year it started to snow at the end of November and didn’t stop.
I go to sleep with images of the house collapsing under the weight of the snow – and us, asleep in the attic, being woken up with our heads popping up through the roof and the rest of the house in rubble below us. We console ourselves that our house is well over 100 years old and therefore must have survived this much snow other time in the distant past.
I thought of the Dylan Thomas Poem, A Child’s Christmas in Wales, and a line at the beginning. “I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.” We will say the same about the month of January 2014.
The snow banks in front of my home are now too high for us to throw the snow onto as we shovel. We cancelled our snowplowing service a month ago fearing bankruptcy. We have embraced shoveling for ourselves, enjoying the time outside and the challenge of clearing the driveway every day – sometimes several times a day.
For all that it is stunningly beautiful. We have a friend, who comes here every summer, planning a visit from Vienna – where there is no snow – so he can see Georgian Bay in it’s winter glory.