Never underestimate a snow storm.
I should know this by now. Twenty years at Maywood. We survived the Winter of 1994 when the stream froze and the ground was white with snow and/or ice from Christmas until the first day of spring. We sledded groceries down to the house…when we could get out to get groceries. We wheelbarrowed wood to the wood furnace to try to stay warm in the uninsulated Maywood House.
In ’96 we made the evening news when we were the last family in Baltimore County to get plowed out. They needed front-end loaders to deal with all the snow. That was the year we drank raw milk from Vernon Foster’s cows. His grandkids didn’t want to drink it, but we were plenty glad to have it. One mile of road and we couldn’t drive it. The only way out was to drive over the corn fields where Robert Warns had plowed a path with some farm machinery.
In 2010 we survived Snow-pocalyse, two back to back monster storms and a snowed in family party that I thought would never end.
So what’s a little prediction of 3-6 inches. That changes to 6-12 inches. Accompanied by single digit temperatures and high winds. Right?
First, my in-laws lost land-line phone service. My father-in-law called on his cell phone to let me know. Our land-line is with the cable service so it didn’t affect us.
Then the cable went out. No phone, no internet, no TV. No Pandora on my new wireless Bose speaker. It was looking like hubby and I would have to spend the evening in scintillating conversation. Fortunately, the smart phones still worked. I could text and post to Facebook. Cable service was restored amazingly quickly. No small feat for Comcast. Music was playing again within two hours.
No sooner had I finished cleaning up the kitchen and taken a potty break, when the power went out. No lights. No water. No heat.
At least the dishes were done and my bladder was empty. Pottery Barn wickless candles all over the house provided soft illumination. The flashlight app on our smartphones guided us around the house. We read by the glow of the Nook.
Now, we were relaxing by the wood stove without a fire because hubby said we were out of wood. With no heat (although the house was still warm), it was time to get picky about what “out of wood” meant. It did not mean “no wood.” So the few pieces down in mancave were put to use in the fireplace insert. Which, by the way, does not have a blower fan when the power is out. Radiant heat is all you get.
When BGE updated the return of service from 11:15 pm to 6:45 am, it was time to call it a day. Up to bed fully clothed in fuzzy sweater, fleece pants and socks. The bed was piled high with blankets. And hubby puts off a lot of heat. I was rather comfortable. Hubby was so comfortable that he slept right through the return of power at 1:55 am, at which time the bedroom was a toasty 56 degrees.
With morning we have lights, water, internet, phone, heat. There is even a fire going in the fireplace. (“Out of wood” today means that there is wood but it needs to be split.) It is time for Pioneer Man to get out there on Betsy the Tractor and plow us out. Yeah, so it’s like 5 degrees out there with a wind chill. Betsy is not cooperative. She refuses to start. Oh, she was quite willing to start two nights ago when it was 40 degrees out. But now her hydraulic fluid is like sludge. I don’t blame her, really. I feel that way too on cold mornings.
But how will we get out? This snow is not going to be melting anytime soon.
Pioneer Man calls our neighbor who also has a vintage tractor like Betsy. Neighbor and family are sick with the flu. They hired someone to plow them out.
“How much?” asks Pioneer Man.
“Don’t know. He’s going to bill me,” replies flu-stricken neighbor.
Whoa. He’s really going to feel ill when that bill comes.
We ponder ways to warm up Betsy. There is a torpedo-like heater in the Room of Outer Darkness. (“Which room of outer darkness?”the daughters may ask. We have so many. The Room of Outer Darkness is the room off the shop underneath the side porch. It would make an excellent wine cellar for someone organized and with an ability to not drink every bottle as soon as it enters the house.) Anyway, this torpedo heater is like the ones you see on the sidelines of football games to warm up the players. It was left here by a contractor once upon a time. It runs on kerosene.
We don’t have any kerosene.
We have wine and whiskey, though. I stocked up on important things before the storm.