more snow than you can shake a stick at
I've been cooped up in the house the last few days with all this snow (about 8 inches have fallen since Thursday morning - I know it's not much by Minnesota standards, but I live in the Pacific Northwest. We like our precipitation wet, thank you very much). So I was very glad today to strap on the snowshoes and walk with Gus to the shopping center, even if it was snowing into my face for part of the way.
There's something very other-worldly about seeing your neighborhood blanketed with snow, especially when you're out in it. You hear things you don't usually hear: kids shrieking as they slide down streets on toboggans (and the sound of the toboggans themselves), the churn and scrape of the snowplow, the quiet crunch of tires on three inches of packed powder. Dogs' barks are muffled. When a neighbor, also out for a walk, came up to talk to us about my snowshoes, his voice seemed loud in the otherwise-hushed street.
I also wasn't prepared for the noisy crunch as my 'shoes punched through the icy crust that overlay the powder (apparently, a freezing rain fell last night). It was loud enough that I couldn't carry on a conversation with Gus as we walked, and I had to move from the sidewalk to the street, where the plowed snow was softer.
Three people commented on my snowshoes, and I found myself explaining how and why they work. I was happy to do so, because I think snowshoeing is a lot of fun, but I wondered, too. Are we in the Northwest that far removed from winter that some folks are baffled by snow gear? I didn't think so, having come from Southern California to a place where seemingly everyone plays outdoors in some way or other. But apparently that's a stereotype like any other, which doesn't exactly fit.
Ah well. The main thing for today was that I got out of the house, I did something fun with my sweetie, I got a lot of very good exercise which I'd been craving, and I got the last of my Christmas shopping done.
There's something very other-worldly about seeing your neighborhood blanketed with snow, especially when you're out in it. You hear things you don't usually hear: kids shrieking as they slide down streets on toboggans (and the sound of the toboggans themselves), the churn and scrape of the snowplow, the quiet crunch of tires on three inches of packed powder. Dogs' barks are muffled. When a neighbor, also out for a walk, came up to talk to us about my snowshoes, his voice seemed loud in the otherwise-hushed street.
I also wasn't prepared for the noisy crunch as my 'shoes punched through the icy crust that overlay the powder (apparently, a freezing rain fell last night). It was loud enough that I couldn't carry on a conversation with Gus as we walked, and I had to move from the sidewalk to the street, where the plowed snow was softer.
Three people commented on my snowshoes, and I found myself explaining how and why they work. I was happy to do so, because I think snowshoeing is a lot of fun, but I wondered, too. Are we in the Northwest that far removed from winter that some folks are baffled by snow gear? I didn't think so, having come from Southern California to a place where seemingly everyone plays outdoors in some way or other. But apparently that's a stereotype like any other, which doesn't exactly fit.
Ah well. The main thing for today was that I got out of the house, I did something fun with my sweetie, I got a lot of very good exercise which I'd been craving, and I got the last of my Christmas shopping done.