Snow day today! It started last night and continued through today. I went out and shoveled a pile of it. It was the light fluffy stuff, beautiful! The wind blew differently this afternoon. Normally, I have drifts across the front yard and in front of the garage, but today, no drifts happened in the front. But in the back along the south side, there was a large drift. Normally, the winds come from the northwest, but today I have no idea where they came from, definitely not the northwest.
We pray for snow so that our "parched lands will receive the moisture they need." Then, when it finally comes and sticks a bit, we complain about the white stuff. What is up with that? I am glad it is here because I know it snowed even harder in the mountains. I am sure the skiers love it, and I am sure the farmers downstream love it, especially when we think of the luscious flora and fauna that will come later this spring and into the summer. There is nothing more beautiful than a bed of flowers, all kinds and all colors. I am looking forward to it.
So, it is still snowing in Cheyenne. More white. More beauty. More shoveling. Isn't it grand?
Showing posts with label snow drifts. Show all posts
Showing posts with label snow drifts. Show all posts
Friday, February 25, 2011
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Why Winter Was Created!
Whatever happened to shouts of glee and over anxiousness that accompanied the coming of winter and the snow? It snowed again last night, and the snow continues its descent onto our parched high mountain plains of Wyoming. Yes, the weather people predicted this stuff. Some said 7-8 inches; others, perfunctorily, said a few inches. Whatever they said or meant to say, we knew the snows would still come.
Whatever happened to the feeling of being able to go outside and play in the snow, build snow forts in the backyard along the west fence by the Hewards, create human chains and tube the massive sand dunes by St. Anthony, or go snowmobiling with Carey and Laura in Charlie Hunting’s fields down by the slough? All that fades, now that the cold and the snows continue harassing us.
Although Punxsatawney Phil did not see his shadow, meaning, ostensibly, an early spring, winter still blusters around us, spewing snow and unseasonably cold weather everywhere in America. And I am not happy about it. I guess age somehow deadens the naïve senses of youth and the good old days and causes blinders to shut out the looking forward to the white stuff.
When I was younger, I loved peeking out the curtains when my mother wasn’t looking—she hated them parted once they were closed—and watching the huge flakes float daintily to the ground, covering the blotching brown with soft whiteness. Before street lights in Menan, the outside porch light created a funnel that welcomed the white flakes, kissing each one with sprays of 60 watts of light.
Often at night, my brothers and I anticipated what the morning would bring, hoping our alarms would wake us to so much snow that we wouldn’t have to go to school. Finally, we dropped off to sleep, knowing, praying, the snows would pile high enough for us to make paths in the new snow in the soft glow of the morning.
Come morning around 6:15 a.m., we donned blue or gray hooded sweatshirts, our new snowmobile suits, yellow fuzzy gloves, knit stocking cap with face masks, and our green snow Pacs. All bundled up, we were finally ready for the deep drifts, leading to the barn. Like sled dogs breaking trail, we sloshed through the snow toward the barn and corrals where the pigs, cows, chickens, and horses waited for us, anxious for their morning breakfast. As soon as the milking and other chores were done, we had time to play in the snow before we had to get ready for school and a dismal day inside.
Usually our first order of business in the newly converted yard was making snow angels. We fell backwards and began making snow angels, arms and legs outstretched and moving them side to side, ever so carefully out and away from our bodies, touching our gloved hands to our thighs, creating perfect angel wings.
Trying to rise from our angelic pose and not ruining the perfectness of the snow angels proved to be the most difficult task. Carefully, we inched our bodies now thick with clothes and clotted snow to our elbows, then to our hands; then using our hands, we pushed our bodies up and onto our feet and leaped clear of our angels. We stood, congratulating ourselves that we had not plopped back into the crevices of our angels, thus preserving the angelic sculptures in the snow.
Once the angels were completed, we grabbed the shovels and tossed snow until we could see the driveway and the sidewalks. Finished shoveling out our side of the world, we shuffled over to Basil and Freda Heward’s place and began shoveling them out. We tried to be quiet so we wouldn’t wake them. With two or three of us, it did not take very long to uncover their walks and single car driveway.
Just before we slipped back into our house to warm up, drink a cup of hot chocolate, chuck full of miniature Marshmallows, and have breakfast, we trundled to the backyard where we oogled the snow drifts, now fence high, that beckoned us to come partake. Tempting as it was, we knew they would still be there, maybe even be bigger, when we returned home that afternoon from school. For just a brief moment, we planned how we were going to build the snow fort, carefully this time, together, not like last time when the snow was just right for snow balls and all else was forgotten in an onslaught of fist-packed snow. Somehow boys possess a sense of quitting everything when being bombarded by snowballs. Snowballing fights were war, and we couldn’t lose.
Only quiet memories still linger in the minds of adults, now too old or too lethargic to climb from their soft, leather chairs to shuffle outside to taste winter the way it was supposed to be: to sling snowballs; make perfect forts in deep drifts; and create snow angels in the soft, perfect snow, made especially for little boys with imaginations, warm blood surging through their young veins, and no sense of cold or wetness seeping through their clothes.
Whatever happened to the feeling of being able to go outside and play in the snow, build snow forts in the backyard along the west fence by the Hewards, create human chains and tube the massive sand dunes by St. Anthony, or go snowmobiling with Carey and Laura in Charlie Hunting’s fields down by the slough? All that fades, now that the cold and the snows continue harassing us.
Although Punxsatawney Phil did not see his shadow, meaning, ostensibly, an early spring, winter still blusters around us, spewing snow and unseasonably cold weather everywhere in America. And I am not happy about it. I guess age somehow deadens the naïve senses of youth and the good old days and causes blinders to shut out the looking forward to the white stuff.
When I was younger, I loved peeking out the curtains when my mother wasn’t looking—she hated them parted once they were closed—and watching the huge flakes float daintily to the ground, covering the blotching brown with soft whiteness. Before street lights in Menan, the outside porch light created a funnel that welcomed the white flakes, kissing each one with sprays of 60 watts of light.
Often at night, my brothers and I anticipated what the morning would bring, hoping our alarms would wake us to so much snow that we wouldn’t have to go to school. Finally, we dropped off to sleep, knowing, praying, the snows would pile high enough for us to make paths in the new snow in the soft glow of the morning.
Come morning around 6:15 a.m., we donned blue or gray hooded sweatshirts, our new snowmobile suits, yellow fuzzy gloves, knit stocking cap with face masks, and our green snow Pacs. All bundled up, we were finally ready for the deep drifts, leading to the barn. Like sled dogs breaking trail, we sloshed through the snow toward the barn and corrals where the pigs, cows, chickens, and horses waited for us, anxious for their morning breakfast. As soon as the milking and other chores were done, we had time to play in the snow before we had to get ready for school and a dismal day inside.
Usually our first order of business in the newly converted yard was making snow angels. We fell backwards and began making snow angels, arms and legs outstretched and moving them side to side, ever so carefully out and away from our bodies, touching our gloved hands to our thighs, creating perfect angel wings.
Trying to rise from our angelic pose and not ruining the perfectness of the snow angels proved to be the most difficult task. Carefully, we inched our bodies now thick with clothes and clotted snow to our elbows, then to our hands; then using our hands, we pushed our bodies up and onto our feet and leaped clear of our angels. We stood, congratulating ourselves that we had not plopped back into the crevices of our angels, thus preserving the angelic sculptures in the snow.
Once the angels were completed, we grabbed the shovels and tossed snow until we could see the driveway and the sidewalks. Finished shoveling out our side of the world, we shuffled over to Basil and Freda Heward’s place and began shoveling them out. We tried to be quiet so we wouldn’t wake them. With two or three of us, it did not take very long to uncover their walks and single car driveway.
Just before we slipped back into our house to warm up, drink a cup of hot chocolate, chuck full of miniature Marshmallows, and have breakfast, we trundled to the backyard where we oogled the snow drifts, now fence high, that beckoned us to come partake. Tempting as it was, we knew they would still be there, maybe even be bigger, when we returned home that afternoon from school. For just a brief moment, we planned how we were going to build the snow fort, carefully this time, together, not like last time when the snow was just right for snow balls and all else was forgotten in an onslaught of fist-packed snow. Somehow boys possess a sense of quitting everything when being bombarded by snowballs. Snowballing fights were war, and we couldn’t lose.
Only quiet memories still linger in the minds of adults, now too old or too lethargic to climb from their soft, leather chairs to shuffle outside to taste winter the way it was supposed to be: to sling snowballs; make perfect forts in deep drifts; and create snow angels in the soft, perfect snow, made especially for little boys with imaginations, warm blood surging through their young veins, and no sense of cold or wetness seeping through their clothes.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
October snows
In my previous blog, I told you about the October snow storm. Here are some pictures of our home and the surrounding snow drifts.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Snow, Snow, and More Snow
Today is going to be one of those days. The College closed yesterday at 1:00 p.m. because of massive amounts of snow falling and blowing all over the place. True to Wyoming form, the winds have been piling up snow as fast as it can. I shoveled a two-foot drift yesterday morning, just to get out of the driveway. By the time I arrived home, the snow had blown in my hole to the house and then some. My wonderful wife had been out shoveling, and I finished opening up the hole so I could drive back into the house.
This a.m. I awoke early, checked the road reports, etc. Plus, I received a call from the College--too much snow, too much wind, too much blowing the snow back into the roads that they have been trying to keep open since 2:00 or 3:00 a.m. They suggested closure. I called our PR person and closed the Campus. So,anyone reading this blog this a.m., particularly faculty, staff, and students, please stay home and inside today. Please no unnecessary travel. According to the Wyoming road reports, the roads are in terrible shape, and they suggest "no unnecessary travel."
My drift in front of the garage is back and is bigger than yesterday. Yes, everything looks so beautiful, so white--from the inside. I will have to don my winter duds and go outside sometime today to dig another hole, but I shall wait until later when the wind ostensibly dies down.
What is up with all this snow so early in the season? Some people say, "Well, this is the way it used to be." So I guess we can say that global warming has not arrived to Wyoming.
Everyone, take care today. Keep inside. Have fun with your children. Students, get your homework done before you go out and play in the snow.
Have a wonderful day! I'll have pictures later on today.
dlh
This a.m. I awoke early, checked the road reports, etc. Plus, I received a call from the College--too much snow, too much wind, too much blowing the snow back into the roads that they have been trying to keep open since 2:00 or 3:00 a.m. They suggested closure. I called our PR person and closed the Campus. So,anyone reading this blog this a.m., particularly faculty, staff, and students, please stay home and inside today. Please no unnecessary travel. According to the Wyoming road reports, the roads are in terrible shape, and they suggest "no unnecessary travel."
My drift in front of the garage is back and is bigger than yesterday. Yes, everything looks so beautiful, so white--from the inside. I will have to don my winter duds and go outside sometime today to dig another hole, but I shall wait until later when the wind ostensibly dies down.
What is up with all this snow so early in the season? Some people say, "Well, this is the way it used to be." So I guess we can say that global warming has not arrived to Wyoming.
Everyone, take care today. Keep inside. Have fun with your children. Students, get your homework done before you go out and play in the snow.
Have a wonderful day! I'll have pictures later on today.
dlh
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Snow Drifts at the Hammons
Cheyenne, Wyoming, had a major snow storm last week, and Joanne and I were out of town. When we arrived home, we were greeted by some major drifts in our yard. Take a look.
The first picture shows Joanne standing on the big drift in the backyard. The second picture is what I call "No, not a mountain, just a drift in the backyard" The third picture is a drift in the front yard. The fourth picture shows me behind the drift in the backyard. Note that my hands are straight up in the air, and you can see only my hands from the wrist up. Now, that's what I call a snow drift. Ironically, we had three good days before we arrived home; so, I suspect they were much larger than the ones you see. But...still pretty big drifts. Now, if we could just save the run off.
They--Wyomingites(now "we"--label these storms typical spring storms in Wyoming. This one basically shut down both I-25 and I-80. So...Welcome to spring time in Wyoming.
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