The Second Coming Of The Blizzard Of 78

My feet crunch in the snow on the top step from the house out into the 5 acre abyss of whiteness, that Pikku, is painting yellow. She stands beside me, an artist inspired by the blank white canvas in front of her with only one possible paint color to fill the emptiness with. The wind, howls around us. It blows me slightly off balance. The snow whips up and the wind roaring like some kind of wild white beast, throws it all around. Much of it slapping both me and Pikku. The snow is not level due to the wind’s wild rage. The house shakes behind me but holds it’s ground against the lashing it is getting from the snow and wind. I smell cold apple blossoms in the air, and damp. This is very wet heavy snow. The wind is a a meathead you encounter at the gym, bloviated from an obscene amount of steroids, lifting the heavy snow and throwing it at everything. Due to the wind’s roid rage, the snow is not flat like Kansas. It is like an ocean. It’s depth different in different spots. Soon I will reach a point where I am forced to stop walking forward. Only feet from the house, I will encounter a drift up above my hip as the dog pushes past me swimming through the Atlantic Ocean of white. As she pushes past she will knock me down face first as I will be unable to hold myself up already off balance due to the wind’s onslaught, and the snow holding me fast like quick sand where I stand trapped in it to my waist. This, is a historic snow storm. The kind we have not seen in years. The only thing to properly compare it to is the blizzard of 1978.

The snow plow, has not come. So the car, while not overly covered because Dr. Farmer Moomin, is tall enough to wade through the snow that is up to my waist, hits him somewhere low mid thigh. He was able to reach the car. He cleaned it off but why bother? We are about half a mile from the nearest town road. The plow, is likely getting the big dollars first to clear Boston. Eventually he will make it to our home, but only after helping to clear the major cities in our area, followed next by the next most important areas ultimately reaching our private road. We may be stuck here for several days.

While I was prevented from moving further from the house, by a snow drift to my waist, I feel secure that there are likely a few drifts in this yard substantially deeper even than my waist. There is likely snow drifts that I could drowned in. For safety, I allowed myself to be stopped by my fall in the snow. The dog, however kept going to a place shallower and did some business there before turning tail like the wuss she is and rushing back to the house with me close behind her.

Most of today we have been unable to see the road. Visibility has been down below a quarter of a mile. You can only see through the whiteness a few feet in front of your face. Unless you are looking out the window. In which case forget it. They are completely caked in mud like white snow.

I sit now by the fire after nearly freeezing laid out face first in the snow for several seconds. It is freezing. With the wind chill it easily feels far colder than a normal New England winter day. 

It isn’t just the snow getting lifted by the wind. The branches of the trees are going wild. All of nature is dancing. The trees, seem like marionettes with some out of control dictator holding the strings, whirling them around. But it’s judst the wind.

I tried to crunch my way to see the goats and check the chickens. The snow was too deep for me. While in the goat enclosure, it is far lower and packed in from them walking on it. Beating it down beneath their little hooves. But they too are miserable. Little Starry the goat, has been shrieking at the sky in a rage. They stay close to their shed refusing to even attempt to reach the majority of their hay in this mess. All are fat from winter lethargy, winter fur growth, and some from pregnancy. All of them appear to be less than thrilled with the historic storm that has been lashing the farm since late last night….

This is climate change. Extreme weather. What is worse, is the current situation. We are just fine. But, FEMA, has been executed like Anne Boleyn, by the fascist regime. This snowy nightmare will melt away as spring approaches. As if it never was. But, in other areas… Their large storms will be tornadoes and hurricanes and there is little money to help them as most are buried in a lunatic’s recently ruled illegal tariffs and have no discretionary income as a result. The tax money has been stripped from FEMA, and sent to programs that fund a masked police force, that is ripping people away from their lives often never to be heard from again. Often to be released later as it is learned they are citizens, and sometimes this force strips American citizens in the streets of their legal fire arm and just executes them. At least, that is known to have happened in the streets of Minneapolis. Only the Gods know where this masked horror force will go next. But when it’s over, what I wonder far more is how they will live with themselves after their actions against the citizenry. Only the Gods and a mad orange man know the answers to these questions… I fear for those caught in storms for which there will be no aide. The truly damaging storms that don’t melt away when spring draws near.

As for us, we can’t go anywhere. We are trapped right where we are. But even if we could leave here, why would we? There is nothing much beyond our property line we wish to engage with, given where things stand at the moment. We can do our non violent part towards change from right here. Boycotting every horrible business and organization responsible for putting someone in power who would leave us all at the whim of storms with no help afterwards or assistance to rebuild our lives. So here we will quietly and peacefully stay. Sharing our story and experience in this moment with anyone who chooses to read my dyslexic ranting. The fire is warm. We have enough to eat, including some stuff in the greenhouse and in the canned pantry. We are fine. The worst damage we have is a bruise on my knee from where I met the snow a bit more personally than I had planned on.

I can’t see the houses that are closest to us. I can’t even find our road leading to the town road, which I also can’t see. The sound of the wind however, will never leave me. I have never heard anything quite like it… There is a season to everything. An old song of a folk nature originally penned by Huw Williams. It deals with loss and tragedy, with often angelic themes or imagery. The most notable performance was Fairport Convention, performed by Simon Nicol. But my favorite version is the one done by Connie Dover, which seems to be somewhat different. It is set during the second world war even referencing the doodlebugs. “When tyranny is biting you do your best to try, and stiffle all your heart ache till it’s safe again to cry.” This is what we do here day after day lately as tyranny bites us all, including those who will face far worse outcomes from storms than we are going to experience from this one. The season will change in more ways than one. So we sit quietly and we wait boycotting everyone responsible for the weather disaster we are feeling in this season.

We are safe from the historic storm, comfortable, warm and cozy.
We hope everyone else is as well. 
Normally I would invite anyone needing a place to go to be warm to come here.
Unfortunately…. No one can reach here at this time. The best thing to do is stay where you are.
Try to create safety and warmth there. 
Spring will come.
Storms are passing viciousness of nature, or man made passing misery.
Seasons will change. Here right now we do the only thing we can. We wait peacefully for the season to change.
Thank you for reading
Amanda of Wildflower Farm

* Most of the photos for this post were not taken by me. They were taken by Doctor Farmer Moomin, because he is tall enough to not be leveled by the snow drifts. I would like to take a moment to thank him for his contribution. Also for not mocking me when he found out I had face planted in the snow and endured depths up to my waist. He was a gentlemen and offered nothing but compassion for my short girl struggles against the snow. Then he went out and took pictures for me. I couldn’t  live out here like this without his support.