I recently blogged about being snowed in for a day or so, but that is nothing compared to the challenges faced by those in the Eastern U.S., who have been hit by a record-setting blizzard. They are really snowed in. A new blizzard is hitting today! I guess I have no reason to complain. We have only had two big snow storms this year, and usually get another freak snow storm in April after I plant my vegetable garden.

Like the old saying, "I used to complain about my feet, until I saw a man with no legs", complaining about our occasional, inconvenient snowfall in our area is really mundane. I called my brother who lives in Eastern Maryland to see how he was faring. He had lost his power for a while last week, but now, they were just "snowed in" – a time for cuddling by the fireplace, sleeping in a recliner chair, and eating hot soup followed by some newly-baked cookies. He and his wife were doing all of these things. It was an ugly, overcast, rainy day where I lived. In a way, I wished that I had a pristine landscape of snow to experience….just to look at, mind you. I would not want to shovel it or spin my way out of the driveway. Boy, this darn Global Warming!

My brother has one of our Sheltie puppies, so his biggest challenge was to get Cali to do her business in the deep snow. He said it is difficult for her to poop when her butt is buried in snow. I will need to take his word on that one. When we lived in Michigan, our dogs quickly adapted to snow-pooping. Basically, when ya' gotta go, ya' gotta go. The pristine snow in our backyard was dotted by little dog deposits and yellow stains. Dogs are really like kids; they generally love the snow once they get over that initial shock of jumping in it, or trying to eat it.

During our recent snow-in, our dogs had a blast. Even the cats got into the act. The chickens were not as excited about it. The chickens have a nice coop lined with layers of straw insulation and plenty of food. In exchange for feeding them, we have been rewarded with an average of ten eggs a day. We have been supplying the neighbors, friends, and co-workers with lots of eggs, with the understanding that they will return the egg cartons. Personally, I have developed an ironic sensitivity to eggs. Not to go into great detail, I tend to get a bout of eggarrhea shortly after eating them. And, no, it is not Salmonella or E.coli. If I scramble them dry, I don't seem to be bothered. None of the neighbors are complaining, so it's me.

Speaking of eggs...my 32 year old African Grey parrot has laid a total of 12 eggs in the last few months. She is sitting on three eggs presently. For a while, the parrot was laying more eggs than the 14 chickens, but not any more. We are up to five dozen eggs or so a week now.

There was plenty of warning about the coming Eastern blizzard this week; enough time for people to strip the store shelves of food, candles, flashlights, and other snowed-in essentials. Of course, the Super Bowl may have something to do with it. A major fear could be that the electricity or cable will go out during the game. Personally, I am not much of a football fan. Having grown up near Pittsburgh (another snowy area), I do get a little interested when the Steelers are in the Super Bowl. In years past, we would go to the movies. This year, we planned on having dinner with some friends, trying out a new Indian restaurant, assuming they do not have the game on.

I feel sorry for the snow venues at the Vancouver Olympics. Vancouver is such a beautiful city, and the areas north of the city should be snowed in this time a year. I hear that they are actually trucking in snow from the surrounding mountains with the temperatures in the 50's. The only thing predictable about the weather is its unpredictability.

I would love to be able to see an Olympic event, especially the opening ceremonies, sometime in my life, but with those prices, only the most dedicated of fans, and of course, relatives of those completing can really justify five or six hundred dollars (or more) for a ticket for some events. I am not a big fan of huge crowds, long lines, and over-priced tickets, so like the rest of the world, I will watch it on television. From my office, I can see the snow-capped Sierras, so that is about as close to snow that I really care to be right now.

I like to watch all of the skiing events, as well as snowboarding. I particularly like ski jumping and definitely admire those adrenalin junkies that do it. Most of my family can ski; I can do okay on the bunny slopes as long as the children or blind skiers don't make fun me. Most of our adult kids ski, as well as the two older grandchildren. They are planning a Sierra trip in the next two weeks. There is about a seven foot base at the ski area they use. Maybe they can send a load of their extra snow - just a few feet - to Vancouver?

My heart goes out to everyone back East who will be dealing with the second wave of snow today. Stay safe by staying off of the roads. Use these rare days, risk those beet-red cold ears, and play with your kids, assuming you still know how to make a good snowball and build an awesome snow fort.

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Labels: animals, dogs, pets, snow, weather, winter

In the wake of our country's preparedness for the H1N1 pandemic, I recently had my own untimely challenge of my preparedness for an emergency.

We don't get snow very often in our area of Northern California, but when we do, it is a test of our local community's response, as well as my own responses at home. When I lived in Michigan for a few years, they may have considered our recent blizzard just flurries. People in snow country are well-prepared, both in equipment and responses. Right now, the East Coast of the U.S. is buried in a foot or two of snow. People in those areas have the snow shovels, ice scrapers, snowmobiles, and emergency equipment ready and waiting. Unfortunately, I was caught off-guard.

We live about 2700 feet, at the top of a mountain, about an hour from where the Donner Party was stranded in a Sierra blizzard over a century ago. The one mile long private road leading up to our home is unusually steep and narrow; primarily shaded from any sunshine by the surrounding terrain and large trees. Our power comes from overhead wires, not buried utilities. Our water source is from a well. Our source of heat is fuel oil and electric blower, and we do have a fireplace with a large supply of split wood. Hot water and cook stove is propane. We have a cell phone so I called in to cancel my patients at the clinic. I was not the first to call off due to the weather. One of our vehicles is a four-wheel drive truck. I even have a big tractor with a front loader and backhoe. We have enough food to last quite a while, including egg-laying chickens. Deer, rabbits, squirrels, and turkeys come by nearly every day, a backup supply of meat when the big Earthquake happens. In comparison, we were definitely better off than most people with our multiple sources of "energy" and equipment.

Several years ago, I was given a huge Honda generator, once owned by a dear friend who thought the grid would go down at the turn of the millennium. He was VERY prepared - generator, six months of stored food, gun, and ammunition. He even had a boat at his dock in case Water World suddenly happened or the polar icecaps melted. He never got to use his generator, shoot his guns at mutants trying to get in his house, or eat his freeze dried stash of food. I guess that is good, but he always seems a bit disappointed that Armageddon didn't happen as he and others had predicted. He passed away a few years ago, and this beautiful, unused generator was sitting idle in his son-in-law's garage. Seeing my coveting eyes one day, they just gave it to me. I was ecstatic.

Electricity is essential. Electricity powers the well pump and pressure tank so we can flush the toilet. We have a wood stove and fuel oil furnace, but the blowers are powered by electricity, of course. We have candles and lanterns for light and a nice Scrabble game when the television is out. Internet in our rural area is a joke, even in the best of weather. When the satellite dish is filled with snow, or the trees are heavily laden with the white stuff, it is not likely we will get a signal.

This summer, I paid an electrician to put in a transfer switch, so when my power went out, I would be able to simply flip a switch, fire up this big generator, and invite the neighbors to our warm, well-lit house. Things never work out as we plan.

We woke up with about 14 inches of snow and it was still falling. Our blacktop driveway was a sheet of ice, perhaps made worse by the fact that I failed to turn off the sprinklers. My citrus trees were covered in snow; limbs hanging down to the point of snapping off. The two cars were buried in snow. I put a tarp over the chicken yard to keep in dry in the rain, but the wet snow was causing it to sag. The chickens were inside, afraid to come out. They were chickens. In less than an hour, we had no power. My neighbor frequently tells the story about losing power for a week in a winter storm. No problem! I have a generator.

I trudged through the snow only to find that the battery was dead. Pulling a rope starter on this behemoth is like trying to start a tractor trailer with a flashlight. After a few hundred pulls and no-starts, I was exhausted. I forgot that I had drained the gasoline. I usually have about ten gallon of gasoline around for the mowers and such, but there was less than a gallon in the cans. I have two cars filled with gas, but did not know that newer cars have devices that prevent siphoning gas. I put the gas that I had in the generator, and pulled some more to no avail. I spent about an hour reading the manual that I had downloaded a year ago. Apparently, I was doing everything correctly, but since I had not serviced the generator, it probably had a clogged (or frozen) fuel line, clogged fuel filter, or something. I am not a mechanic and I was getting darn tired of pulling that rope. I needed a battery.

I have a spare 12 volt battery in the garage for a trolling motor, but that last time I used it was two years ago. The chance that it had enough juice to fire up the generator was slim, but I had to give it a try. The battery sparked, so I hooked it up and Eureka! It kicked on, I flipped the switch. Let there be light! With less than a gallon of gasoline in that generator, I estimated that my enthusiasm would fade in about an hour.

I had to get gas...somewhere, so that means I will need to venture out to a service station. Service stations run on electricity and power was out everywhere. I thought about walking out, but after falling on my butt several times on the black ice, I decided that this wasn't going to happen.

Summer fires are a seasonal threat in our area, so I had scoped out an escape route in the event that a wild fire was blocking our only legitimate exit. My escape route involved going through my elderly neighbor's yard, down his long driveway, to another road. This is quite easy...in the summer; not so simple when the area is buried in snow. These are all private roads, so no one will plow them. I discovered as I tried to plow my driveway that my tractor is much too light to get a grip on black ice, but it did move enough so that I was able to get my truck out from our down-sloping driveway. I put the truck in four-wheel low drive, threw the gas cans and a few shovels in the back, and headed out my fire escape route.

The snow was even deeper and the ice slicker on this leeward side of the mountain. My neighbor's unplowed driveway was steeper than I had remembered, complicated by the fact that I could not even locate the road. I aimed for the clearing between the trees and hoped this was the road. The two mile journey down the back of this hill took about an hour, but I made it to the plowed freeway. I located a busy gas station, filled the cans, and had an anxiety attack knowing that I would now by driving up the hill that I just went down. At least I will have my tracks to follow. After another hour of slipping, sliding, and sphincter-tightening spins, I eventually made it back home. I could hear the generator still running, and filled that near empty tank with good ol',over-priced, Middle East petrol.

For the next day, we celebrated the omnipresent chugging of the generator, sat by the wood stove, watched the news about the storm on television, and ate hot soup. If we had chestnuts, they would have been roasting on the open fire. We just had acorns, and they suck. We checked on our neighbors, but they were doing fine with candles and fireplaces. Our three dogs thought that we put the snow out there for their personal enjoyment and didn't want to come in It was a Snow Day. It would have been nice to be a child again, and sled ride down our black-iced hill, but of course, we would have hit a tree and been killed, only to be subsequently eaten by our snowbound neighbors.

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Labels: California, snow, winter

Well, Christmas is over, but certainly not winter. I grew up in southwestern Pennsylvania, an area not a stranger to snow. As a child, snow was seen as a blessing. We would listen intently to the radio, while simultaneously getting our sleds ready, waiting for the list of school closures to be announced. As soon as our school was mentioned, we were out the door, heading for the nearest hill. Dozens of our friends would be quick to follow. There were snow forts to be built and snowballs to make in preparation for the inevitable siege. The girls were busy making snowmen as we laughed and secretly planned the transformation of those "men" into snow-women. Our older siblings would be assigned the arduous task of shoveling the driveway and walkways, so working parents could get to work.

We had a sled-riding hill at our school, but of course, we were not allowed to have sleds. During recess, we would use the next best thing - our shoes or our bottoms. One day our favorite snow hill was defiled with a fresh, steaming pile of dog crap. When the bell rang, I vividly remember piling lots of fresh white snow on this fetid mound, before returning to class. A mischievous sneer could be seen on my face as I watched children from the second recess heading for the snow hill. After school, I proudly admired the long, yellow streak that indicated the overall success of my IFD (improvised fecal device).

My favorite aunt lived directly across the street. As an independent six-year old, I had safely crossed this quiet road thousands of times in my young life, rarely looking out for cars. Today, there was one coming, but it was at a sufficient distance that I could make it - if I ran. It is not that easy to run on packed snow, and of course, it is not that easy for a car to stop on it either. A miscalculation, mostly on my part, ended up with a vehicle heading for me in a wild spin. I stood their like a deer frozen in the headlights, as the car struck me broadside, sending me sailing through the air. I landed in a snow-bank in my aunt's front lawn.

Quickly, I sprang to my feet and headed to my aunt's front door, oblivious to the shouts, "Are you okay?" coming from the terrified driver. I rang the doorbell and entered like nothing had happened. A few minutes later, the doorbell rang again. It was the sweaty driver of the car. The jig was up. The driver identified me as the one he just hit. Fortunately, I wasn't injured.

Four years later, I was a front-seat passenger in my mother's car, sitting beside my newly-purchased Christmas present - a blue parakeet with cage. The snow was really coming down, but most rural drivers are not intimidated by this white stuff. Suddenly, there was a man standing in the road waving his arms for us to stop - he wanted a ride into town. My mother did not have time to stop. The thud of his body still echoes in my mind, as well as the vision of him hitting my side of the windshield before flying over the car. Stunned, my mother continued to drive about a block or so. At my insistence, she stopped and turned around. The old man was still lying in a pool of blood in the middle of the road. He wasn't moving. I went to the nearest house to get some help - the home of a friend, nicknamed Dog. Dog called the police and ambulance, but by the time they arrived, the man had died. He was a recluse that lived in the rambling shack next to Dog. He had no family. This was not a particularly good Christmas for a ten year old.

As the years progressed, I had many more encounters with snow. There was the time that my friend, Rick, decided to dive head first into a fresh snow drift. He did not know the snow drift covered a snow wall. There was the time in high school that I threw a snowball at my typing teacher, only to strike her in the back of the head, knocking off her knitted cap. I only speak about this now, knowing that she passed away years ago (for unrelated reasons). I passed typing that year, but I could not look at her the same way.

While in college in West Virginia, I nearly killed my best friend when I slid a full sheet of plywood down a snowy hill for him to catch. The plywood caught some air, rose up, and struck him square in the head. It knocked him out instantly. We carried him to the campus emergency room where he his concussion was treated. After this incident, we remained friends, although he did seem to act a bit odd thereafter.

I had never seen snow as deep as I did in Michigan. Michiganders love snow. They love to hunt and track deer. They love snowmobiles and four-wheel drive trucks. They love those wool hats with the fur on the ears. I remember losing my car in the parking lot when a sudden snow storm made all cars look the same. I remember shoveling off the sidewalk so children could get to the house for Halloween, and a recall moving boxes in the snow at the end of April, when most of the country is picking spring flowers. As a non-Michigander, I did not share the enthusiasm. When I moved back to California, I left my trusty snow-shovel behind, vowing to never use it again. Last week, I needed it in California.

Since I live about an hour or so away from Lake Tahoe, the freeways are unbelievably crowded with folks heading for the snow. The skiers and snowboarders have been waiting for this season all year. There is plenty of snow on the slopes to accommodate them. As I see those cars passing by, filled with smiling faces and weighted down by ski equipment, I start to worry. Statistically, some of the people will not make it home. They may hit a patch of black ice, or like my barber, slide off the side of the road and end up at the bottom of a steep embankment. If an alert trucker had not witnessed this early morning accident, I would be cutting my own hair. He made it out just fine, but unfortunately, others do not survive the road chaos of the Holiday season. So far today, three people have been killed in the Sierras on the snowy roads. I think I will stay home.

Even now, when I see snow, these and hundreds of other stories flood my memory. Snow is beautiful to look it, but not so beautiful when the weight breaks tree limbs across your driveway or takes away a loved one. I love watching the grandchildren sled-riding down a hill or learning to ski, but from the warmth of the lodge. My own futile attempts at skiing were not unlike the "Agony of Defeat" film footage that aired for years on the Wide World of Sports.

I do not want to insult or miff the snow-lovers, but personally, I could live just fine without ever dealing with snow. I would be content just to watch the Weather Channel and call friends in relatives that are completely socked-in, claiming that I am outside, wearing shorts, and firing up the barbecue.

Please drive safely. You may arrive at your destination a few minutes later, but you will arrive. Think of other drivers and the families and friends that are at home. Be prepared. Have full tank of gas and some emergency equipment, including some sleeping bags and snacks. You don't want another Donner Party. Watch the weather and traffic reports. Have a fully-charged cell phone, but don't talk on it - stay focused on the road, and of course, your valuable passengers.

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Labels: snow, winter