It’s one of those strange situations. I feel like I shoveled all weekend long, but yet we really didn’t get that much snow. If you know people in Cape Breton, you probably realize we got pretty lucky as far as the amount of snow we got.
I shoveled on and off all weekend, but I swear it was the same snow. I’d move it out, it would blow back in. I’d move it out again. It would blow back in again. It took me a while to figure out we didn’t seem to be getting more snow. It was just blowing, for the most part.
I also discovered something else. When the wind blows from just the right direction at just the right speed, it makes a noise as it blows across my chimney that sounds remarkably like a snow plow going pasty the house. Which meant every time the wind blew, which was often, I’d think the plow had gone by. So I’d jump up to check if the end of my driveway had been plowed in. Usually it was just the wind. But it kept me hopping.
But it did bring back memories of White Juan. And there were many comparisons being made. That was one many of us can remember.
Prior to that, I spent a few years living in Newfoundland. There was one spot I only lived for a couple years, but each of those years we had a snow storm that would leave the town pretty much cut off. When there are drifts eighteen to twenty feet high across the highway, you’re not going far for a day or two.
Getting that much snow is not a lot of fun, but at the same time can be fun. Like getting picked up for work on a snowmobile was something I’ll remember. And digging test holes to find my car was always a bit amusing.
Thankfully, this one mostly missed us. And as much fun as it is playing in the snow, I’m okay with that.