Snack Time

Popcorn, anyone?  Google tells me there are fifty words to describe snow, and I find that reasonable.  Big, light, fluffy flakes that float down; small hard pellets that hurt when they hit, that miserable wet stuff that aims for the back of your neck; and then there is this that for lack of a better term I call popcorn snow.

Overcast and cold for most of the day, Stove had chomped his way through almost all of the wood on the porch and I figured I'd best restock before I ran out completely.  I'd planned on my usual three wagon loads, but I'd no more than filled this first one when all of a sudden I was in the middle of a blizzard.  Okay, that's an exaggeration, but that's what it felt like.  Popcorn snow bounces when it hits, just like its namesake in a pan, and it doesn't melt.  One load would have to do, and Bessie and I headed into the house.

In the time it took to walk from the front door to the dining room, there was this much white stuff on the deck and it was still coming down big time.  Then, as suddenly as it began, Nature flipped the switch and it stopped and the sun came out, leaving me to ask "What the heck was that all about?"

Very shortly thereafter, Beau drove up and he and his four kids piled out.  They went to work like a drill team and completely filled the porch rack and Beau split kindling.  Talk about an act of kindness.  I get such a kick of of the youngest.  She chatters continually like a little bird and sometimes I have difficulty understanding her words (she's four) and I have to ask her to repeat something garbled.  "You don't hear so very good, do you?"  "No, honey, I guess I don't."  I'll bet it didn't take that young crew fifteen minutes to do what would have taken me the better part of an hour.  I tried to slip Beau a couple of bucks for the kids.  "Nope.  It's all about karma."  After hugs all around (I love hugs), they got back into the car and drove away, leaving me with wood to warm my outside and a very warm heart on the inside.

Tree Guy had called in the morning.  He had another job nearby and stopped here to assess his approach to the tree on the barn.  What seemed to me as a potential disaster didn't faze him at all.  Hey, he's the professional.  Walking back to his truck, he looked at the broken limbs under the tree by the driveway where the vultures sit.  Those huge branches have been sitting there for well over a year, maybe two.  TG seemed almost embarrassed when he asked if he could cut a few rounds to take home.  Like the mechanic who doesn't get around to fixing his own car, Tree Guy had run out of firewood at home.  "Please take what you need."  As Beau said...karma.

It's 26 degrees this morning.  The popcorn is frozen solid and Bess did a slip-and-slide on the deck and, trust me, she didn't stay outside long.