It's not like it never happens around here.
In fact the metadata on the photo above shows I took it at 11:11:02 Monday morning Feb 15 2021. Almost exactly one year ago. (It's Feb 4 2022 as I'm writing this.)
But it, this kind of weather, doesn't happen often. (Our average lows and highs for early February around here are 46 and 64 respectively.)
In the past 15 years here on The Property we've had 2 or 3 significant and maybe 3 or 4 wishful-thinking snow events and about the same numbers for icing events.
Well now we have another to add to the list. Though this one is difficult to classify.
It's certainly not as extreme as last year's, but it has been a mix. Rain turning to freezing rain to sleet and even a bit of actual snow, all layered up in a treacherous, crusty skin on anything exposed.
This time around we've been below freezing for 18 consecutive hours and it will be tomorrow, about 36 hours, before we will, briefly, make it up to 35 around noon under cloudy sky's before the freeze settles in again. And, according to the forecast, we have another 5 or 6 below-freezing nights coming on the heels of that.
But I'm not trying to highlight the extremes of our weather here. I'm not trying to bitch - or brag - about the local conditions in this post.
I'm all too aware that many - many, many - places are dealing with far worse than this little bit of hardship. If you can even call it hardship.
No. This post is about confronting unsettling reminders and finding peace with them.
One of the sweet blueberry's embedded in this thick, bitter batter is the fact that I can - legit - drag out my trusty wool gloves.
The ones that do a surprisingly good job of keeping my hands warm - ish - (Let's be realistic here!) but leave me with the dexterity to do my chores, and even type on a keyboard, as I'm doing right now in the 45 degree barn, practice on my new kalimba in the chilled tin-can of The Van as the blustery wind rocks her, and troll through the 1440 daily news digest on my phone while sitting out in the open on Dad's bench. (I'm pretty sure I'm getting worse and worse about not wanting to be inside any more than I have to.)
Being wool, they keep my hands warm - ish - even when wet. And when I don't need my fingertips I can turtle them by quickly shaking the gloves down an inch for even more protection,