Frosted

We were snowed in.

And even though we couldn't make it out of the yard to go to a small New Year's Eve gathering, we could have made it a fun night at home just us. There is something oddly quieting about being snowed in.

But we were on the fringes of a large project that was almost done. Just a few more hours of wiring, cleaning, and trim work and we would have our living room back.

So 11:30 pm on New Year's Eve finds me vacuuming sheet rock dust off of one set of basement stairs. I glance up from the tedious job to look out the window and see that after days of snow and wind, everything is still.

The evergreen right outside our living room, which has been adorned with Christmas lights, looks as if it has drifted in from a fairy tail. Every branch on every tree, every fence post,  every...thing appears to have been frosted with the thickest buttercream frosting.

Gazing through the windows just isn't enough for me. I step out the front door, as if stepping through the wardrobe, leaving the mess and chaos of a living room remodel behind me. And for a moment, I'm in Narnia.

It's so still, so quiet, so.....heavy, the cold doesn't even seem to penetrate. I can hardly contain myself. I run back inside and grab my tripod, setting it up in the 2 feet of snow that's collected at our front door. It's dark outside, no moon, no stars, just the heaviness of night and thickness of new snow. But it's nothing a long shutter speed can't handle, and waiting 3 to 5 whole seconds for the shutter to click seems like an eternity.

The next morning is not as peaceful. I look down the road towards town and am greeted by this:

And the husband spends 3 hours of New Years morning clearing out our landing strip driveway.

Everything is heavy with snow and ice, and I begin to shovel our two exceptionally long sidewalks.

I sometimes wonder how I ended up in Minnesota. I mean, I know it's because I was born here, but why wasn't I born somewhere else? Not that I really want to live somewhere else, but why do we feel compelled to stay here and fight this white stuff  nearly 6 months out of the year?

As I shovel a foot of snow covered by an inch of ice under another foot of snow, I realize that anyone can live in a warm climate year round. It doesn't take any special determination to live in balmy locations, and there really is something unique about coming inside after working or playing out in the snow. And it takes a special kind of faith to day dream about your garden and where you're going to plant the new things while braving single-digit highs with wind chills well below zero.

{somewhere out there is my beloved garden which bears more produce than we can eat & give away}

I stop hoisting scoops of snow and survey the three feet I've managed to shovel so far. I wasn't quite sure what to think of the little sidewalk snow blower Adam recently traded for....something...I don't know...more things come and go around here than I can keep track of anymore. I mean, shoveling snow is a good winter work-out. It makes me feel very "in-touch" with the season. Why would we need a mini-snowblower?

Well, two feet of snow and ice is why. And after counting more levers and knobs and warning signs on the little snow blower than I knew what they were for and after seeing the husband's that-thing-is-more-than-you-can-handle look, I decide to call it quits. I've done my *for fun* shoveling and will head back inside to do some more vacuuming. Yay. 

But the next day....after two chaotic hours of Sunday School with a group of 2-4 year olds, after a fabulous (if I do say so myself) pork roast with potatoes from the aforementioned garden, and after kicking the husband out of the house for some much needed fun and "guy-time" snowmobiling with friends....AND after getting the kids down for a nap, I bundle up and head out into the winter wonderland with my camera.

My fingers freeze...painfully so...they hurt for hours afterwards, but everything is so beautiful. And even though I can hear the distant hum of howling wind outside our grove, it's so quiet. Just my camera complaining to me a bit as I coax it into the focus I want.

I trudge through knee deep snow to get out to the heart of our grove, but I'm glad I did. Because now I'm certain Narnia exists.



And it's a good thing we got all that snow cleared away, because there's more coming.