We're having another blast of winter here. Yesterday it snowed the blessed day long; and we got a fair bit of snow the day before that as well. With a light wind whipping the flakes everywhere, we also have drifts. Whoo-hoo.
The beasties are in the "endurance" stage. As in, "Let's just get through this -- one more time."
There's a huge butte in the distance. Can you see it? Neither can I.
Whenever Lydia comes in from a walk...
...she has massive jingle balls of snow on her feet.
It's dramatic, yeah. It's pretty, yeah. But, well, we've seen a lot of the white stuff this winter.
By the way, here's another photo of that invisible butte in the distance again.
This morning we were buried. Again.
Drifts ranged from three to six feet high.
Sigh. The water tap in the corral was buried again.
The snow was up to the shop window.
But at least it's soft snow, so digging out the tap wasn't hard.
Don fired up the tractor and prepared to push snow around...
...but for the moment, our road is drifted shut. No one's going anywhere. "My online city friends are baffled by this,” observed Younger Daughter. “They say, ‘Well can’t you just take a bus?’ Aww, that’s so cute.” The nearest bus service is four miles away. By foot. (Or snowshoes.)
Yet the siren call of spring is starting up. Yesterday I stepped outside and heard robins, blackbirds, and wrens all singing amidst the snow. Doubtless they're even more impatient for green than I am.
These are blackbirds gathering optimistically in a treetop under a bleary sun.
Ironically the temperatures are supposed to rise to 40F for the rest of the week.
I guess all we have to do is wait.