Eight days before Christmas, we were buried under 31 or more inches of snow.
Even the locals were stunned. It’s been nearly three decades since this much fell at once.
Could there be a more beautifully decorated tree?
We were guaranteed a white Christmas.
Where was all that snow going to go?
Christmas Eve some deer came by, just before dark.
“Can’t you take it away?” She asked.
Poor things had been battling for a week, no doubt exhausted by the effort to navigate through it.
One wondered, “where do they sleep? Where do they shelter? What do they eat?”
A face like that makes me want to usher them in, provide a warm bed and a large meal.
Nature is harsh, but I do not question her wisdom.
Now, I had consulted the infamous weather ‘oracle”.
Two of them, in fact. Fed-up with the app that kept insisting the temperature in Cambridge was 51F when it clearly was not, I installed a second, slightly less annoying oracle.
The prediction was for another storm, and warm temperatures. Coincidentally, 51F was mentioned!
It arrived, with howling wind and drenching rain.
So I figured, Christmas Day would look a bit different.
I was astonished, though, by what I saw. Even the birds were amazed. “Cor’ we got our perches back!” They seemed awfully pleased. So we had a green and orange Christmas with patches of white.
Which for some reason I didn’t think to photograph. It was as if some great vacuum cleaner had sucked it all away. I mean, not even a puddle. Where could it all have gone?
Then, 10pm Christmas night…snow!
It looked as it had at the start of the big storm.
But this snowfall was of short duration.
Boxing Day, the world was once more transformed.
No deep drifts, no shoveling required.
Just enough to look really pretty.
And not impede the passage of a car.
So we took a ride, here and there, wherever the Subaru took us. Having a navigator to get home if necessary.
How lovely it all was. How different a landscape can appear, with the slightest change of light, of moisture, of growth.
That’s why I love it here.
Buildings are the same, wet or dry.
Perhaps even concrete changes a bit, depending, but it’s not my thing.
Just to prove I’m not close-minded, here is my friend Tim’s photograph of Lower Manhattan from his Brooklyn apartment, on Christmas Eve morning.
It’s pretty, if you like that sort of thing.
He also gets wonderful sunsets and can see the Statue of Liberty, with ships sailing in and out.
For Tim and Oscar, it’s perfect.
We rode around, on empty roads and I was once more challenged to capture images from a moving car.
Though a couple of stops were allowed:
The sound effects were so soothing!
A still-frozen lake made an interesting image
We meandered. These bales of hay caught my eye.
How pretty is just a dusting of snow on the hills,
and through the woods?
Grant always says those woods look like a bad haircut!
We came upon a sign for Willard Mountain. We’d seen signs before and said we should go there:
Nobody had told us we were within reach of a ski slope! Not very large, admittedly.
A cluster of shag-bark hickory had a small stream running between them.
These white-barked trees, I always call ghosts. I believe they are birch, although aspen is also white.
On we went, where would the road take us?
Often, we’ve found ourselves on Stump Church road.
Finally, we found the Stump Church!
We could have continued our journey through the twisting roads, but the need to provide cat lunches called us home:
Where Toby was keeping vigil…