As fall 2010 reaches its midpoint with winter in view, I'm thinking back on our arrival on the mountain last November 2009--just in time to rake a massive amount of leaves that had fallen on our property and prepare for winter. It was a record-breaking season with more snow than anyone had ever seen. It was a winter that mountain dwellers will never forget.
February 15, 2010, 3:00 p.m.: An hour ago snowflakes began covering the aproximately eight inches of accummulation that already lay on the ground from the previous week. It's coming down at a rather blinding rate of speed here in Bat Cave North Carolina. CNN predicted it, in fact, Don Lemmon showed us live video streams of scenes in Alanta and Mobile that looked pretty much the same as what I was viewing sitting on my living room couch. So fast were the clouds traveling across the sky and the precipitation coming that my little cockapoo Holly, bolted outside and began barking in all directions, standing her ground as if defending her property from an intruder. Little Pisgah, the mountain that looks down into my bedroom window from 4250 ft. elevation, the one that's greeted me every morning for the past three months as I've arisen from my bed and gone through my ritual of sweeping open my verticle blinds, has seemingly disappeared behind a curtain of fog. It was there a couple of hours ago.
The feeling of being wrapped in dense clouds is giving me an unexpected sense of security. I've decided to make a slow simmering soup. I'm hunkering down for a long haul. Visibility is about 50 feet. I'm hearing regular swoshing sounds coming from my well-insulated house. Turns out its a mini avalanche of snow sliding down my A-frame roof once it reaches its saturation point-it can handle no more and expells the excess in the form of fluffy drifts onto my wrap-around deck. Under these circumstances, walking out our front door could actually cause us to get knocked down by the heavy load. My husband Pete, and Holly went into Asheville to return the generator we purchased from Home Depot just before last weeks snow fall-it's not powerful enough. It started snowing after he left, and now he thinks he and Holly may not be able to make it home tonight. Navigating the narrow mountain road that leads to our house even on a sunny summer day, is a test of ones driving skill. With snow on the ground it's nearly impossible. Locals regularly abandon their vehicles at Middlefork and take to walking the rest of the way. Mine as well as other driveways are being used as way-stations for residents whose vehicles can't make it any farther.
9:30 p.m. Pete and Holly walk through the front door covered in snow which they track on the carpet as they enter the living room. I leap to my feet in surprise as I didn't expect them to make it up the icy mountain roads tonight. Knowing Pete, I was certain he took some unnecessary chances driving home. I was afraid to ask, but Pete was anxious to describe to me just how he had to pass all those no-driving people on the interstate who slowed their vehicles to a crawl just because of some snow flurries.
Next day, February 16, 9:30 a.m. I'm awakened by rustling of trees and deep bellows caused by the force of the wind as it races across the holler (all this time I've been referring to it as a hollow until a local set me straight). The sound stirs me to an upright position in bed. I rise and slightly separate the blinds in order to take a peek outside. There seem to be light snow flurries, but I can't tell for sure so I rub my eyes, hoping for more clarity and finally reach for my glasses for confirmation. Pisgah has reappeared. The first signs of sunshine seep into the bedroom through my open door. As I make my way to the living room, the sun is now shining brightly on my deck reflecting the perfectly smooth blanket of snow that covers it from end to end. The suns reflection upon the snow causes the deck to take on an appearance of shattered glass on white carpet. Three hours later, the snow finally shows signs of giving way to the suns insistent rays and my roof begins to drip drip drip from the overhead gutters. Fire and ice, a curious combination.
Picking your dreams
8 years ago