Tuesday.
11am.
We’re
ten hours into the current winter storm warning. So far, not
even a dusting has been spotted. Weather trackers have shifted
the focus of the storm to the east.
Twenty-four
hours ago, there was a fair consensus from multiple sources
placing expectations around ten to twelve inches of new snow
accumulation. Twelve hours ago, adjustments placed our yard
in the dark blue coverage area of four to six inches. Four hours
ago, morning show updates slid the dark blue over and placed
us squarely on the line dividing four to six inches from one
to four inches.
Tuesday.
Noon.
Eleven
hours into the warning. No snow has fallen.
The
cars have gas. Snowblower is ready to go. I’ve been to the store,
not to give in to the chaotic storm warning rush for emergency
essentials, but rather just to bring home a few things so I
don’t need to go out tomorrow or Thursday for anything if I
don’t want to go out. The vehicles in the driveway were positioned
for the best cleanup approach hours ago.
The
snow can fall. I’m ready.
New
alert on the phone says snow will start at 12:38.
I
live in a place where, under clear skies and with no forecast
of precipitation of any type, you could fall asleep and then wake
up to find five or six inches of snow blanketing your yard, driveway
and cars.
I
live in a place where, with absolutely nothing falling at all,
the wind will sweep and carry snow and create drifts a foot high
where bare ground had been.
I
live in a place where lake effect snow has been known to arrive
with five to six feet of snow for a ten to twenty mile zone, with
traces to nothing around that zone in an all or nothing pounding.
So
please, understand, I am not poking the bear with a stick. I am
not standing outside, shovel in one hand, other arm raised to
the sky with a clinched fist except for a lone extended finger
challenging the winter weather gods to show me who might really
be number one. The snow is coming. The wind is coming. The brutal,
unforgiving, even wearing hats and scarves and zipped jackets
with bundled hoods my face hurts just stepping outside cold is
coming.
But
today, the winter storm warning has not delivered. I’d like to
say that’s a surprise.
It’s
not.
We’ve
called this house our home for a few years now. And, I’d say the
totals of unexpected storms and the washout of predicted snowpocalypses
are running about even. It sure seems like there are times when
we aren’t expecting any troubles at all only to find plenty of
work that needs to be done. It sure seems like there are times
when we’ve been told to prepare for sleet and hail and wizards
and demons ripping apart our home as snow buries the roof under
twenty-seven or more feet of heavy snow only to look out the windows
at a view of dirt and grass.
Storms
arrive. Storms don’t arrive. The best preparation is always for
the worst with a nod toward the unexpected.
There
are stages to the process, of course. Basically, when a storm
watch is announced, it means we might see something. Few of us
really pay any attention to these. It’s the storm warning announcements
that earn more than passing glances. That’s the point when weather
apps are checked and broadcast times for local news are considered.
That’s the point where supposedly the needle has moved from might
happen to will happen.
And
thank goodness for the weather forecasts. The reality is, while
we all want exact predictions for impossible to exactly predict
situations, the reality is simple… they are incredible at gathering
and using information to recognize what is happening… we are far,
far better off understanding what they are able to tell us than
we ever would be with no information.
Tuesday.
1pm.
Flakes
in the air. No dusting yet. Just fluffy white flurries scurrying
about and hazing the view of the yard.
The
storm is still there. The storm could still arrive. The winter
storm warning is only halfway to completion. But there is nothing
to clean. For now, I wait.