Here we go again. Miserable weather is coming to Maine. This time it’s a blizzard, a northeaster, a big, bad storm that has been tagged as a “bomb cyclone” by the meteorologists. (According to the New York Times, a bomb cyclone is a storm that has a sharp drop in barometric pressure.) But as Nestor Ramas from the Boston Globe put it, this term “seems designed to evoke maximum terror.”
“Terror” might be too strong a word to describe our reaction, but bomb cyclone, with its potential high wind and resultant destruction, certainly got our attention. We have sprung into action. Pots of water sit on our stove, we bought extra lamp oil, and we have canned soup in the cupboard. For the third time in three weeks, we are ready for a power outage. And, yes, readers, this is getting old.
I love the natural world, and I love living in the woods, but I also love heat and power and movies and other gifts that technology brings. A pioneer woman I am not. As it so happens, I am reading Prairie Fires: The American Dreams of Laura Ingalls Wilder by Caroline Fraser. Let’s just say that Pa and the pioneers were not the exemplary citizens portrayed in the Little House books. For me, this makes Laura Ingalls Wilder’s story richer and more interesting, and I am not bitterly disappointed by these revelations. But I digress, and I will write more about this book in another post.
Back to the weather. In central Maine, the forecast is for twelve to sixteen inches of snow, nothing we can’t handle. The wind is projected to peak at 20 to 30 mph with gusts up to 45 mph. This is more worrying as the high winds might cause power outages.
But for now anyway, we are warm and snug. We had our big meal—turkey burritos with corn—at noon, which gave us plenty of time to wash up the dirty dishes. (No power means no water.)
Midafternoon, Clif will go out with Little Green to clear the snow from the driveway, the area around the woodpile, and the paths to the bird feeders. For readers new to this blog, here is a picture of Clif and Little Green from the last storm on Christmas Day. (Little Green is electrically run, so when the power is out, we must shovel by hand.)
Onward ho, Clif and Little Green!