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November 29, 2006
Cold Snap
Ah, it hurts not to have a camera! Richard is still on the road with the Mog (showing a Lower Mainland municipality what the Mog can do in snow, actually) and I've been waiting for him and the camera to get home so I can capture this amazing weather.
Words will have to do for now - this morning is too spectacular not to capture somehow.
It is currently -23, but the wind has calmed finally, so that -34 windchill in today's forecast isn't affecting us yet. The silence is absolute. The sky is that palest pink you see in tiny clamshells on the beach, as the sun comes up slowly behind the eastern hills. When I woke up the first thing I saw was more white, and thought maybe the next round of flurries had begun overnight. No, it's frost. I've seen this once before, one morning in January when a cold snap like this is more common. The spruce and firs seem immune, but something about the lodgepole pines attracts the ice. Every pine is white, each needle limned in crystalline frost so even far away trees stand out like crystal. Our chestnut, too, has frost shining over every bare silver branch. And when the first rays of sun reach past the hilltops to hit the trees, the silence will break with great cracking noises as the frost drops from the pines in that bit of warmth. If we get sun. The pink is weakening to a dull, depthless gray and it seems less, rather than more, light out now. From where I sit, ice and snow are visible on the still river, and the mist is hardly moving. After weeks of burning pine from the removal of beetle-infested trees all down the block, there's barely a wisp of smoke to be seen. I love the silence and the sense of waiting, breath held.
There. The snowy top of one hill across the river is rose. We may get a show after all. I'd go outside, but my short walk around our acre yesterday in the midst of the sunny afternoon made me realize why they have to warn us about frostbite when the temperature drops like this. It's so dry, and the cold is so instant the minute you walk out the door, that the tip of your nose goes numb before you think about it and you don't even feel that all your exposed skin is freezing. I came in after less than half an hour and my face was red as a tomato between scarf and toque. Mind you, the wind was blowing. I wanted to see what the wind had done. November is a month of frequent windstorms here, but usually not accompanied by 20 inches of snow. The drifts are above my knees in places you wouldn't expect. The barn, for instance, faces south into the wind. I expected to find snow piled up to its edges, but instead the drift settled two feet in front of the south wall, with a swirling pattern and sharp ridge, and between the peak of the drift and the wall, the tips of the grass are showing.
Behind the well shed (where the heat is on to keep our pipes to the house from freezing) the north side is another strange drift, with a similar furrow a foot wide showing grass. But the best image of the wind in the snow was among the tall weedstalks behind the barn. I so desperately wanted a photo of this I could have cried. (I probably looked like I was crying, the cold by then making my eyes water endlessly.)
One of the weeds was broken about three inches above the ground, so its twiggy top bent down to just touch the surface of the snow. Somehow the wind had spun it like a compass, creating a beautiful series of rings in the snow around the stalk. And then yesterday's calmer, chillier weather set it crisp and clear until I came upon it like a miniature crop circle.
It's 8am and the sky is edging toward blue, but still flat and pale compared to the cobalt blue skys after a January snowstorm. If it weren't for the snow and frost it would be gloomy. With another storm on the way, I guess the sun has no strength for cracking ice. Instead the highway traffic has picked up, and now the smoke is rising from my neighbour's yard. Time to get the work day started, I guess. If I can take my eyes off the pines, and the snow clinging to my blue spruce, and the way the deer prints careen all over the yard. The next snowfall is expected this afternoon, though, so I have a lot of work to finish and rush to the post office with before the roads get messy again. And then I can sit back and enjoy the falling snow.
I hope you all drive safe and stay warm in this cold snap, and enjoy the natural beauty of this time of year. I, for one, am looking forward to the holidays, with hopefully less cold, and as much snow.
Posted by anita at 8:39 AM | Comments (3)
November 2, 2006
Hah!
The Universe has spoken. My swift depression on finding out El Nino could prevent a white Christmas this year has lifted: against all forecasts to the contrary, it is SNOWING. And yes, Richard, that IS measurable accummulation on the ground. Just a little early for Christmas, of course, but this is fairly normal weather for our area, as opposed to the seemingly endless drought we've had until today (not to mention the chilling -7 overnight temperatures we had earlier this week). So I'm now more hopeful that we might, maybe, get just a little snow to brighten up the holidays. Please?
Posted by anita at 3:05 PM | Comments (5)