All winter long I’d been hoping to be at the cabin when it snowed; several times I arrived after a big snowstorm, with the sun out and the snow sparkling under a big blue sky. Last week, finally, I got to be in the middle of a good snowstorm.
When I arrived Tuesday, it was a warm day, with temperatures close to 50. But Wednesday morning, the temperatures started dropping, so at 10 a.m., it was only 16 degrees. The snow started falling lightly, but by the time I went out for a walk, around 10:30, it was coming down hard, and the roads had more snow than I anticipated, as if the plow driver had gotten stuck on the main roads and our minor dirt roads were a secondary consideration.
In the middle of a blizzard, everything becomes more difficult. Even wearing a heavy parka, I was cold, and my fingers started hurting after only 10 minutes or so. When I tried to take a picture of the swirling snow, my lens cap fell onto the road, and I had to scrounge around in the white flakes to find it. A bit farther up the road my camera batteries died, necessitating taking off my gloves to put in new batteries.
When I had looked forward to this snowstorm, I hadn’t thought about the cold, how the wind finds any crack in your clothing, leaving a gift of cold flakes on your neck or wrist. Or that cold hands are painful. I kept going up the road through the thick forest where the cabins were more hidden than usual. Even in the woods, the whipping snow was almost disorienting, as if the familiar cabins were distorted, so I couldn’t be sure of my bearings. The world had become blurred, so only the foreground stood out, like the red mailbox (above), a fixed bright object in a swirling world.
More than usual, I felt exposed to the raw elements; no one else was out, not even a car humming down the road. At times like this, you think how easily you could disappear—a slip in the snow and how fast the snow would cover and obliterate you. There’s almost a cold fury at work here, one that you have to respect and be in awe of.
It seemed that in every direction I turned the wind was blasting me, spitting snow down my coat and into my ears—sometimes from the east and at other times from the northwest. Except for the magpie (brave or foolhardy?), I saw no animals. Everything and everyone else had taken cover under this winter onslaught, waiting for the snow to stop, the sun to reappear, and the world to settle back into something recognizable.
Wonderful photos and post!
Posted by: shoney | January 20, 2012 at 06:17 AM
Gorgeous photos, Kathy. Great description of being lost in the blizzard in a familiar place. I had a similar experience a few years back being lost driving on familiar roads in a blizzard. Quite terrifying. I also love the description of how everything became hard, even small things like replacing a lens cap. Thanks for this.
Posted by: Rachel | January 25, 2012 at 08:54 AM
I treasure days like this in my canyon cabin too. I found your blog from Emily Brisse's blog, Landing on Cloudy Water, and am very glad I did!
Posted by: Erin Block | February 12, 2012 at 11:35 AM