Weekly Photo Challenge New.
Nothing new here but snow and snow and more new snow.
Yesterday the birdbath held a giant marshmallow. Today it turned ghostly.
“You need to move back home,” says my friend who hates snow. She doesn’t understand.
“We don’t mind digging out,” I tell her. “We’re glad for the exercise.” It’s the cure for cabin fever.
Plus, I could stand to burn a calorie.
We shoveled the driveway twice yesterday. This morning there was 20 inches of new snow to dig. It snowed all day. We talked about getting a plow blade for the truck, but then it wouldn’t fit in the garage. Maybe a four-wheeler with a blade, or a snow thrower. We could hire someone. But no, as long as we’re able-bodied, we’ll bundle up and dig out the old fashioned way.
I dug a trench to the henhouse. Twice.
Will this be the winter that breaks my spirit and cures me of my love of snow? I don’t think that’s possible. It’s in my Scandinavian blood. This is how winter is supposed to be. I like it like this.